


Dream of Me

by cardiac_arrest



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hockey Injuries, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soul Bond, aw yeah, feels good, fluff and emotions, i guess kindaaa, winning the calder baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardiac_arrest/pseuds/cardiac_arrest
Summary: “Hello?” Travis says, sounding absolutely breathless.“Was that you?” Garret asks.“Well, yeah,” Travis drawls and Garret feels the pounding in Travis’s heart. He feels the adrenaline rush through his body. “Were you expecting to Bond with someone else?”And Garret is breathless, too, when he answers, “no. Of course not. It’s only been you.”He hears Travis’s breath hitch. And then Travis starts laughing maniacally, which is kind of what Garret expected. Garret can’t help but smile into his phone and chuckle under his breath alongside him.-----Or, soul bonding. Now with idiots.





	1. golden days

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to me being back on my bullshit again. here's me expanding on the soulbond drabble i wrote months ago (you don't have to read it to understand this). i'm the only one contributing to this ship but it's alright i guess.

The first time Garret thinks about bonding, he’s playing in the AHL. Well, that’s a lie. He’s thought about bonding ever since his mom told him about it, back when the future seemed like eons away and memories of that time merged together and took the form of murky water.

 

Platonic bonding, romantic bonding, and everything in between were things of _magic_ to Garret. He’s always thought being able to soul-bond with anyone was amazing; incredible, unbelievable, incomprehensible. The fact that someone else could discern his feelings clearly and the gain of that all-encompassing intimacy? He’d been locked since day one.

 

But then he hears about _hockey bonding,_ and, wow, isn’t that the most wonderful thing a seven-year-old hockey player could learn of?

 

When days dragged on during his childhood, when times were tough, Garret would think about the NHL. He would dream about the glory of playing professional hockey, of being on a team that thousands of people around the globe cheered for. He wanted to be wanted.

 

It’s probably bad that he romanticizes soul-bonding so much. There was nothing special that could be said about the ability of two people to soul-bond to each other, nothing truly binding them together except a deep connection. They weren’t each other’s soulmates. There was no fate involved. No unexplained force behind it all.

 

But then again, everything could be chalked up to be a work of fate. It seemed Garret would never run away from fate, especially not after Travis.

 

Before Garret met Travis, before he played on a same team as him and knew all his adorable little quirks, he hadn’t had any expectations. Making the NHL was his one goal, solid and unchanging. It was right there and he knew what he needed to do to get there. But after Travis, after _knowing_ him, things changed.

 

It wasn’t just making it to the NHL, it was breaking through that boundary to play _with_ Travis.

 

Garret remembers the days during the AHL playoffs when Travis had come back, face bright with the fresh, new gain of knowledge despite having tasted the bitter tang of defeat. He remembers how Travis vibrated excitedly around the dressing room, fast-spoken words shooting out of his mouth carrying tales of wonder being directed to everyone he engaged. He remembers the determined glint in Travis’s eyes as he came around to Garret’s stall, whispering secrets about NHL dressing room behaviour that somehow was so similar yet so _different_ from its AHL counterpart.

 

He had taken it all with a sense of untouched awe. It felt like a completely distinctive world, somewhere that he would never reach and was never allowed to. Beyond his realm of living.

 

“They just know everything,” Travis had gasped in his ear, just before Game Two against the Phantoms.

 

“Who? What do they know?” Garret responded. He hadn’t started putting on his pads yet.

 

“Everything! Everyone! The players—their Others!” Travis’s eyes were wide. His face was comical—Garret wanted to take a snapshot of the moment.

 

He didn’t let himself stare too much; he didn’t have his helmet on and everyone would be able to see him. The sound of cheerful conversation droned on in the background.

 

“I’m gonna need a little detail than that. And maybe a verb in a sentence,” Garret smiled. He had a lot of questions that he couldn’t ask. They were too personal.

 

“Okay, okay, nevermind that. I’ll let you in on a secret.” The airy whisper was back. Garret couldn’t help but smile wider. “You know how goalies bond with goalies, forwards bond with forwards, and the D bond with whoever?”

 

Garret nodded compellingly, hanging onto every word that left Travis’s mouth.

 

“Frederik Andersen said fuck that, and now Connor is his Other.” Travis’s face held a look that left a sense of surprised veneration in Garret’s heart. It blew through him like a quick gust of wind. There was hope burning in his chest.

 

“Yeah?” he had replied, trying to play it cool with his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

 

“Yeah,” Travis said back. His own eyes had widened even more.

 

He knew Travis was thinking about the same thing he was.

 

“Shit,” Garret said. His tone was reverent. “Next year, then.” The two words carried meaning. They were synergistic in concept. An unwritten promise.

 

Travis stared into his eyes with a fiery gaze. It pinned him down, drove him mad.

 

“Next year,” Travis repeated, and left with a pat to Garret’s shoulder that lingered on for just a touch too long to be platonic.

 

The hum of background noise slowly grew to consume the echo Travis’s words left behind. It was a comforting and familiar buzz as Garret got dressed, strapping on his under-armour with a dazed determinedness. He looked at the clock on the opposite wall, its second hand ticking away much quicker than what Garret felt. He had a few more minutes before warm-ups started. He felt good, ready.

 

Travis’ stories tumbled around in his head, lingering in crooks and crannies he didn’t know he had. Every time he wanted to focus and push himself into the zone, they came back. They were hidden in every thought he had, as if they were only disguising themselves in a trivial façade. Garret felt a sense of confused motivation. He pulled on his jersey and skates in an automatic fashion, going through his routine that warranted none of his consciousness. There was a blank, pinched look on his face.

 

“We got this eh?” Mango said as he held up a fist, an encouraging smile on his face.

 

“Oh yeah,” Garret smiled back and bumped his fist.

 

He grabbed his mask and got up, the numbered chin swaying along from the movement. He followed Mango to the tunnel, staggering side-to-side. He breathed out heavily, bracing himself for the rush of cold wind that flew past his grill and into his face as he stepped on to the ice to face the Phantoms for Game 5.

 

It was the final piece that clicked for his mind to switch gears.

 

Standing on the ice for the national anthems had always been a time of reflection. Even during the playoffs, there was little else Garret could hear besides the blood rushing in his ears as a backdrop to his racing thoughts. He found out through the hard way that it was easier to just focus on his entangled mind rather than anything else. His thoughts ran too deep.

 

The twisted spell inside his head broke when the lights went back on in the Coliseum, the bright flash snapping him from the constant stream of considerations that flowed through his brain. The cheers rang loud, echoing across the rink in waves. Garret closed his eyes and settled in his crease. He would do anything for these fans.

 

One more win. And then one more after that. And then one more. Until they were champions.

 

The game felt sharp, as it always did. The acrid taste of sweat made its way into Garret’s mouth, a normal occurrence. The first goal went into his own net, a bitter reminder to do better. He left his crease, going for a quick clear of his head. The fans were quiet as the Phantoms celebrated with their huddle. Garret looked at them with foreboding.

 

His lips thinned. He should have done better.

 

He got back into his net, back into position. There was a dark look of disenchanted concentration on Garret’s face. It was all directed towards himself.

 

“Chin up,” Travis smiled lightly as he skated past Garret with a tap to his pads. It was a quick thing, just a little quirk of his lips.

 

Immediately, Garret felt his own visage lightening up, mirroring Travis’s face. He returned Travis’s gesture with a quick stick to Travis’s butt, looking in satisfaction as Travis almost turned around and stuck out his tongue at him.

 

He felt more centred. It was his game, not anyone else’s.

 

The rest of regular time went by in the blink of an eye, the only moments that stuck by him were the goals; two from his team and one more scored on him. There was always more he could do, things he shouldn’t have done.

 

The short break at the bench was refreshing. Picks helped. Garret loved the relationship they had and the support they had going for each other. It was nice having another goalie who understood him and was there for him when he fell.

 

“You got this, man,” Picks smiled, holding a fist out. Garret smiled back, biting his tongue playfully. He took his glove off, giving a gentle bump to the fist Picks held out.

 

“Thanks, Picks,” Garret replied, and moved to knock the cap from his head.

 

Picks swatted Garret away with a laugh. “Go stop those pucks.”

 

Garret nodded, still grinning. He skated back slowly to his crease after the whistle had gone off, the refs urging them onto the ice.

 

There was a knowing glance from Travis as he stepped onto the bench. Garret held his gaze as long as he could. He wouldn’t disappoint him this time.

 

The cheers from their precious home crowd had started again, painting the stadium in Marlies pride. The thunderous claps and boisterous chants settled something within Garret. It felt good, enlightening even, to have the crowd behind his back.

 

Unconditional love. It felt reminiscent of that.

 

There wasn’t much of the actual game that Garret remembered. He didn’t look at the time once, only focused on the present. He was only there to protect the goal, there was no time for stupid mistakes. One would be too many.

 

He only knows he’s made a huge save after Travis comes by. Well, that and the crowd banging uproariously upon the glass.

 

It’d been a save that Garret had gone all out for, practically in the middle splits as he gloved down the puck frantically.

 

Garret would do the splits a million times over if it meant having Travis’s attention on him like that again. It felt like pure joy to see the unbidden amazement on Travis’s face as he pseudo-hugged him around the neck. It was only Travis who would throw his head back like that with a ridiculous face. There was no shame; it was only them in the moment. Garret wanted to know what he was thinking. The feeling was forcibly wiped away within nanoseconds.

 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” Travis had squawked, laughing in awed disbelief.

 

“Just doing my job, Dermie,” Garret laughed back, smacking the side of Travis’ shin with his stick.

 

“Man, I gotta do mine better then,” Travis whined jokingly. He was still holding the side of Garret’s mask with one hand.

 

“Come on,” Garret said. “We’re almost there.”

 

Travis nodded, still smiling. He laughed one more time and the white of his teeth gleamed from the bright lights. Garret looked at his missing tooth. He felt endearment blossom in his chest. It blazed alongside the hope and determination.

 

“Let’s go boys!” Travis hooted, skating off towards the bench for a line change. Garret chuckled to himself and allowed himself to take a deep breath to focus again. They were going to win it. They were.

 

They won it.

 

There wasn’t much else Garret could remember from the game except the feeling of elation and the shouts of celebration shaking his eardrums. The walk back to the dressing room was lighthearted, he was thrumming with energy.

 

It was as if a bomb of good spirit had gone off in the Coliseum, infecting everyone with bounds of serotonin. The edge of adrenaline had given Garret himself an excitable mood. He couldn’t stop laughing and moving. He couldn’t be still.

 

But after the rush of winning a playoff game had ebbed away and the astonishing thought of _this could be it_ faded from the forefront of his brain, another type of longing popped up. It had taken a while for Garret to place the feeling exactly, it wasn’t something he had tried to categorize before. But once he did, it was obvious that Garret hadn’t reeled himself in enough.

 

He recognized the deep-coursing burn of wanting something he shouldn’t want and could never have. He looked at Travis, shifting his eyes to his laughing figure in his stall. Their gazes met briefly. Garret would have been embarrassed if Travis hadn’t tilted his head at him and smiled. It was one of those smiles that stretched across his face with reverent glee, one that grabbed hold of your heart and squeezed it until you felt obligated to have the same feeling of happiness. It was joy so strong that it felt constricting.

 

 _Fuck yeah,_ Travis had mouthed at him, nodding his head ridiculously as if he were hand-banging at a metal concert. Garret laughed silently and head-banged back before Travis turned back.

 

And Garret knew, in that moment, that he wanted Travis. He wanted whatever he could get with him—a bond, a relationship, _anything._ There was nothing he could do to break the spell enchanting him. He didn’t want to, anyways. Being near Travis brought to him a sense of acceptance and belonging that he never had before. He had found a home in him. A home he always wanted.

 

He hoped it stayed that way.

  
  
  


It gets worse before it gets better. The statement wholeheartedly applied to Game 7 of the Calder Cup finals. It got worse before it got better.

 

Garret still remembers the mess of a game he’d had during Game 6 of the finals, when he let in four goals from seventeen shots. _Four goals on seventeen shots._ Maybe those are his unlucky numbers now, four and seventeen. He doesn’t want a repeat, not when something so paramount is on the line. And honestly, the gigantic significance of this game irks his mind a lot. It doesn’t matter how many goals the Marlies score, but Garret knows he isn’t going to be the one who lets all his teammates down.

 

He’s been on this team for so long that it would taste all the better in the end.

 

The dressing room isn’t stuffy at all. The atmosphere is electric—full of cheer, excitement, and finality. The option of losing isn’t _possible,_ it _won’t_ happen. Not to them.

 

Travis stops by his stall for a quick chat despite being scratched for the game. Garret’s thankful; Travis always gets him in a good mood and he didn’t have to come, not for him.

 

“Hey,” Travis says, loud at first but then quieting down when he realises how much his voice travels.

 

Garret smiles up at him in response, running a hand through his hair.

 

“You got this, you know?” Travis tilts his head with a furrowed brow, indicating the faith he has in Garret.

 

“Yeah,” Garret nods. It sounds a little hollow to himself despite his effort to keep it upbeat and definite.

 

Travis notices. Garret would be a fool if he didn’t think Travis would notice.

 

“Come on, Sparky,” Travis growls. Garret shivers a little on the inside. The intensity of Travis’s voice strikes a cord within a deep part of his mind. “It’s always been you. And you’ll be the one to do it.”

 

Garret looks up at Travis, blue meeting blue. There’s fire in his eyes, a certain bittersweet determinedness that moves him. The hand Travis has on his shoulder feels like an anchor, chaining him to reality and its merits, keeping him settled.

 

“Yeah. It’s my turn now,” Garret says, tone growing certain and loud. “Fuck. This is ours. We’re going to do it.”

 

Travis howls, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. It turns heads in the changing room, but it’s on par enough with Travis’s personality that it’s disregarded after a quick glance to ensure the player’s identity.

 

Garret laughs loudly, always one to crack up easily. He smiles when Travis is done.

 

“Fuck yeah!” Travis shouts and tries to clasp Garret’s hand.

 

Garret laughs again and stands up, pulling Travis in with their linked hands to bump their chests.

 

There’s whoops around the room as their teammates see the rowdiness ramping up. Picks smacks him in the ass with his jersey. Garret laughs and lets Travis go. He doesn’t want to.

 

“Alright,” Travis smiles. “I gotta go, but I’ll be watching.”

 

“Got it,” Garret nods.

 

“I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.”

 

“Aw,” Garret coos. “You believe in me.”

 

Travis sniffles indignantly. “I’ll always believe in you.”

 

And—Garret doesn’t know how to respond to that without puking up all his feelings, so he just coughs a little.

 

“The feeling’s mutual,” he gets out before he hacks out a lung. There’s a stinging sensation somewhere back in his chest, but it’s a good stinging. It’s a stinging that comes with being wanted.

 

Travis makes a face, _‘duh’._ He leaves with another pat to Garret’s back, it knocks a little more breath out of him, and a half-ruffle to his hair before Garret puts an end to it.

 

Garret watches him walk away with electricity in his chest.

 

“Don’t even,” he says as Picks starts to speak.

 

This thing he has for Travis is five thousand times too obvious for himself to feel safe, but at least Travis is oblivious.

 

When Garret’s finally in net, for the last time this season _,_ he’s… settled. He’s good. It’s their time, their game. He’s not letting the Stars into the game. They’re done. Finished.

 

And, okay, he’s _got_ this. He has to have this, especially with Travis sidelined from his injury. Garret’s jarred into what having this means within the first five minutes of the first period, when an errant shot from the Stars hits off the post and flies away from the net. The _ping_ gives his heart a big jerk; he knows he wouldn’t have made the save if it hadn’t gone off the post. He whispers a ‘thank god’ to himself and closes his eyes in gratefulness to the net. He shakes his head a little as the play’s finally stopped. _Get in the game. Don’t fuck it up._

 

It’s better after that. Garret knows he has to be sharp. He can’t let a single goal in. It’ll create too much turmoil and panic within him, ultimately sending him off a steep abyss. And it feels better when he makes a big save, sliding from one post to the other when he has his eyes perfectly on the puck. It’s a familiar feeling.

 

There’s more reassurance when Mango nets one on McKenna, bardown. Garret whoops loud from his end of the rink, slamming his stick down on the ice in rhythm to the screaming roars of the fans. ‘ _Let’s go Marlies’_ has been chanted ever since puck drop, introducing a brand new sense of bright-edged purpose to the arena. _Their_ arena.

 

The second period goes okay. It’s good. They keep their 2-0 lead against the Stars and Garret feels thrumming underneath his blood. He tries to keep calm about it, because even though they’re close to winning it all— _so close_ —there’s still that sense of superstition. Garret’s teeth have been on edge ever since the video review of a frantic save he’d made, and he doesn’t want that to happen again in the third. Not when they’re just a few periods away from _doing_ it.

 

The third is chippy. The Stars push back, they have been since the second, but it’s a little more frantic this time. It feels fine, because they manage to score early on, giving them a three-goal cushion. They’re just a little bit closer.

 

Halfway through the period, Garret somehow manages to make a save that’s reviewed again. It doesn’t go in the net, doesn’t cross the line at all. It takes a while before the decision comes out, but it’s disheartening. It’s a goal. The anger in him rises; there was nothing that indicated the puck crossed the line. The arena disputes with him, jeering the refs with unrelenting boos.

 

The ‘ _refs you suck’_ chant start minutes after the ‘goal’ has been deemed a good goal. The tension grows. They’re still leading, but Garret feels vindictive about the whole situation. He gets a little rougher, pushing the Stars forward that managed to knock Ben down on the draw when he gets too close to his crease.

 

A hybrid of _‘let’s go Marlies’_ and _‘refs you suck’_ starts circulating the arena. Garret can barely hear it, focusing to keep the puck out of his net.

 

They score three more in the last five minutes of the game. Garret hooks everyone with his stick after their goals, beckoning them for a huddle in congratulations.

 

The time runs down—three, two, one, the buzzer sounds.

 

Garret pays no attention to it, instead directing his focus to listening to the roar that overcomes Ricoh Coliseum. A crest of waving white towels fill the seats. He laughs, exhilarated, as the disbelief sweeps over his body like a gargantuan wave, matching the rush of his teammates surging towards him. They end up with a mess of huddled bodies, pulling and pushing and hugging and yelling at their win. Their championship.

 

There’s nothing else that’s pressing at the moment except the hard press of elation that pushes at their chests. He hears a “fuck yeah” thrown around somewhere, maybe Hollsy, and a series of whoops that spread like a wildfire. Garret joins in, sounding like an idiot. He sees Travis go tumbling off with Nielser a few metres away over a sea of blue jerseys. They clutch each other tight, firmly and meaningfully. Garret wants to skate towards them, but he’s trapped by the rest of his teammates slapping his chest and messing up his sweaty hair in celebration.

 

He’s almost out of the rowdy, cheerful crowd when he’s attacked by Picks. He laughs as Picks pulls on his jersey and almost throws him down. There’s an unintelligible yell from him to which Garret responds similarly. They end up wrestling, sending each other skating in circles as Garret tries not to fall down on the ice. Garret shakes himself from Picks’s hold, and gives him a smack on the back in commendation and excitement.

 

Finally, he’s able to breathe in sharp, fresh air, characteristic of ice rinks. He’s ambushed again by Dicky. He hugs Garret close, the impact telling of his excitement and pride directed towards him.

 

Dicky leans in close and says, “this was all you. We’re here because of you.”

 

Garret nods viciously, the sudden wave of emotions washing over him unexpectedly. Dicky lets him go with an almost pseudo-kiss to the jaw, when Travis comes over to celebrate. It’s a smart move on Dicky’s part; Garret isn’t going to pay much attention to anyone else when Travis pulls him that close and whispers in his ear like this.

 

“You’re a fucking beast,” Travis grits out with feeling, in his uniform and on skates. “That goal was bullshit and you deserved a shutout. You deserve this entire championship. _You.”_

 

Garret laughs a little, trying to not look stupid as he feels the sting of tears just behind his eyes. They’re happy tears, but he’s had enough of being emotional on TV.

 

“We all won. Team effort,” Garret replies simply. The way Travis’s face changes shows his appreciation. Garret doesn’t look into his eyes, doesn’t want to give away how he feels. He pulls away from the embrace before his mind shuts down and decides to do something stupid, like kissing Travis flush on the mouth. Travis lets him leave with an emphatic pat on the back.

 

He skates to the hand-shake line straight away. Garret’s ready to celebrate with the Cup in his hands. Granted, it’s not the Stanley Cup, but it feels the same despite it all. They get handed these grey caps, _‘Calder Cup Champions’_ is inscribed at the top with the Marlies logo. The verity of the statement settles a little, becomes their reality. The handshaking blurs together, green numbers and helmets merging together in the long line of white sweaters. Garret doesn’t mean to neglect the stature of their opponents, but it’s been a long time since he’s been wanting this.

 

When it’s Garret’s turn to skate with the Cup, he brandishes it high in the air with a roar. It’s theirs; the team’s and the fans’. The euphoria grows again as the arena becomes more white than blue, towels whipping in the air. He skates a tiny lap, it feels weird for him to have the Cup in his hands—it still doesn’t seem like it’s real.

 

Garret finally takes a look at Travis properly, and it’s all it takes for everything to melt away. The sincerity in his eyes seals down the truth and digs out the joy. It feels like Garret can do anything, as long as he’s next to Travis.


	2. c'est qu'il a mon âme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin them.”
> 
> Garret smiles. “You won’t. It’s just paint.”
> 
> “They’re more than that,” Travis says reverently. It’s like he’s stuck in a haze. “So much more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i wasn't going to do notes at the beginning of each chapter, but:
> 
> i messed around with the dates. so disclaimers for that.

Kyle calls him into his office the same day Picks and Curt get claimed off waivers. It’s a telling sign in Garret’s mind, especially since it’s one day before the regular season games start, that something big is going to happen.

 

It all feels kind of anticlimactic; everything he’s wanted is right in front of him, yet it feels normal. Nothing has changed extensively yet, but Garret can feel it on the tip of his tongue. There’s a lot of sadness he feels about losing Picks. Their dynamic was truly one goalies would die for, and now Garret knows they won’t get that again.

 

He feels like he’s undeserving of what he has.

 

So he needs to work harder to be deserving.

 

Garret knows that the coaching staff were only really looking at him during training camp and the pre-season games because of his Calder Cup performance. But Garret doesn’t want to be complacent and think that’s all he needs to be in the NHL. He wants to be better and to have _more._ He wants to be a part of the Leafs, who he’s heard from Travis as being a close-knit family with big personalities.

 

And, God, he also wants Travis.

 

The past summer had faded with days in Chicago filled with meaningless work outs interspersed by amusing Snapchats sent from, his truly, Travis Dermott. The pictures were fun and attention-grabbing. Some were stupid while others seemed more like a thirst-trap. Garret got used to seeing shirtless photos of Travis in his swim trunks, looking like he had finished a summer full of conditioning.

 

He’d get photos from Travis at the gym, bragging about how much he’d lifted with a casual shot of his tensed biceps, sweat pooling in his collar bones. Then there were the silly ones, where there’d be a very unflattering picture of Travis’s face held in a tremendously weird stature and a dumb caption like ‘why can’t milk stain my teeth white like coffee stains them brown”.

 

Garret couldn’t decide which types of pictures he liked better. He still can’t, to be honest.

 

And with the rest of the time he had remaining, he spent it with his family. Golf was a common sport he could play with his sister, mom, and dad all at once. The conversations could be stunted, sure, but it was better than sitting in cold, hard silence. Better awkward than nothing.

 

There had been a day during the summer when he had gone to the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, all alone. He liked to do that sometimes—wallow in his own loneliness and think about the thrills of being a starving artist. But that wasn’t the reason he went to the MCA that day. To be honest, he hadn’t had any reason on that day, but he understands now why he went.

 

He remembers he had wandered the halls aimlessly, just appreciating the unique art pieces that didn’t necessarily make technical sense. It was peaceful, even if there were children shrieking and running around. Garret didn’t mind children, he thought they were pretty cool. He trailed up the spiral staircase with the netting and thought of hockey. He sat in the Commons, staring at the lights decorated with hanging plants and thought of Travis.

 

He went home with a few sketches for his mask. It was a decent enough day. Good, even.

 

He had realised nothing could really be truly good if Travis wasn’t there.

 

Kyle’s voice distracts him from his thoughts. “How have things been?”

 

Garret smiles, looking around the sleek office. He sees some pictures of Kyle’s family on his desk. Sentimental. Heart-warming.

 

“It’s been good,” he replies. “I think the team is great.”

 

Kyle nods studiously, picking up on the underlying meaning behind his words. He gestures to the grey couch, indicating Garret should take a seat. Garret feels underdressed in his Leafs tee and shorts. Kyle’s in a full-on suit.

 

“That’s good,” Kyle hums as Garret settles down. He takes a seat next to him. “Different from the Marlies?”

 

Garret smiles, reminiscing. “That’s one way of describing it.”

 

“But you like the team?”

 

Garret takes a glance at Kyle. “Of course.”

 

“You want to stay?” Kyle’s eyes are sincere behind his glasses.

 

“I’ve been here for this long, haven’t I?” he says slowly. “This is my dream.”

 

Kyle nods again, an appeased look on his face. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Calvin and Curtis have been claimed off waivers.”

 

Garret nods. The disappointment is still there. He knows he has to push it away.

 

“We’re glad you’re here,” Kyle goes on. “It means Fred will be able to have a back-up that I’ve seen in action. But that also means there’s the issue of Bonding that we have to discuss.”

 

The air rushes out of Garret’s lungs silently. He came into Kyle’s office knowing this was a possibility, expecting it really, but it still surprised him when the words left Kyle’s mouth. He wants to point a finger at himself and say, _“me?”_ Kyle stares on, waiting for Garret to speak.

 

“Of course,” he says. He tries to keep the childish excitement out of his tone.

 

“Do you have someone in mind already? Or would you like to give your agent a call. I know this is pretty different from what we have in the AHL. If you’d like, I can give you a few days to think it over. But, uh, it’d be good if we got you Bonded as soon as possible. Goalies get first dibs and everything.”

 

“No, that’s alright,” Garret swallows. “I… already have someone in mind.”

 

Kyle smiles at him with a knowing look on his face, as if he can decipher what Garret’s going to say next. Kyle probably already knows who he wants and he’s just amusing Garret for the sake of it.

 

“Who is it? One of the Unbonded?” Kyle urges him with that private smile. Garret’s confused. He didn’t know they could request someone who was already Bonded and has their Other.

 

“Yeah,” Garret sighs. He tries not to sound like a guilty child. “It’s Travis.”

 

“Another Marlies alumni, eh?” Kyle is still smiling. Garret feels a little oppressed. He’s never thought about what management would have to say when he actually requested a Bond with Travis.

 

Garret hums a little at the rhetorical question and nods.

 

“Well, that’s fine, I think. But you’d better discuss it first with Travis first before we give you the go ahead.” The smile on Kyle’s face turns wry.

 

“Okay,” Garret says. Was that it?

 

“I’ll let you get back to lunch then,” Kyle says.

 

Garret nods, “I’ll see you around, Kyle.”

 

He leaves the prim office feeling a little doubtful. Who knows how management actually feels about them trying to Bond? Kyle was being polite, even though he’s known Garret for a while now. Garret hopes Kyle was being truthful with him, that Bonding with Travis is really a possibility.

 

He walks into the dining area and spots Travis immediately. He’s sitting with Morgan Rielly, laughing together like they’re best buddies. Garret doesn’t mind, but the jerk in his chest says otherwise.

 

He doesn’t get anything to eat from the chefs yet; he wants to be able to have a serious conversation with Travis without making a fool of himself when he spills his food all over himself.

 

He takes the seat beside Travis, the furthest from Morgan. He smiles and tips his head towards Morgan in greeting and nudges Travis a little to get his attention. Travis turns around, ready to yell at the random person who’s almost made him jump in surprise, before recognizing Garret and beaming. Garret hopes Morgan doesn’t see anything incriminating on his face but judging from the slight raise of his eyebrows, he probably does.

 

“Hey,” Garret says. His eyes meet Travis’s tentatively.

 

“Where’d you go?” Travis pipes up immediately. “Dubie’s office, right? Are you in trouble?”

 

Garret snorts. “Come on. I haven’t done anything yet.”

 

“Yet,” Travis repeats mockingly and takes a bite of his panini.

 

“So what’d Kyle call you in for?” Morgan says, a curious look on his face.

 

“Just, uh, Bonding stuff,” Garret says and leans back in his chair a little. Casual.

 

Morgan’s eyebrows go up further as Travis whips his head towards him with a look. Garret clears his throat, maybe that would help dislodge that feeling in his chest.

 

“Does that mean…?” Travis stares at him, his gaze intense and imploring.

 

The air around them grows charged.

 

“Yeah,” Garret says.

 

He knows there’s only one thing on Travis’s mind; the Bond. Having the Bond. The quiet desire grows strong.

 

“So?” Garret asks, staring into Travis’s eyes. His heart beats faster.

 

“Yeah,” Travis exclaims angrily. It’s as if Garret has offended him by even thinking there was a chance that Travis would decline.

 

Garret snorts a little and shakes his head. “Okay then.”

 

“That, was the most confusing thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Morgan states, deadpan. He’s unimpressed and unsatisfied.

 

“What? Nah, not confusing at all,” Travis dismisses. Morgan looks to him. Garret shrugs.

 

“The only thing I understood from that conversation was that Garret talked to Kyle about bonding. And then you guys just agreed with each other a bunch.”

 

“Sums it up perfectly,” Garret smiles.

 

Morgan scowls. “You guys are freaky, but I’d still like to know what happened.”

 

Travis looks at him with an eyebrow raise. _You or me?_ Garret waves a hand in Travis’s direction.

 

Travis huffs and rolls his eyes. The teasing smile never leaves his face.

 

“Me and Garret are going to Bond,” Travis throws out. Very casual.

 

Morgan’s jaw drops open. “No one even popped the question!”

 

“Well, technically I did,” Garret drawls. Travis hums in agreement and takes another bite of his sandwich. Garret feels bad for distracting him, it must’ve gone cold.

 

“You said one word! And Travis just said ‘yeah’! No communication whatsoever!” Morgan sounds upset.

 

“Hey, Mo, it’s fine,” Travis soothes. “I mean, wasn’t it like this for you and Jake?”

 

Morgan looks at them like they’re crazy. “Uh, no. Definitely not.”

 

“Huh,” Travis shrugs.

 

“Then it’s settled?” Garret asks.

 

Travis nods, eyes flicking up towards him.

 

“Great, I’ll tell Kyle soon then.”

 

“Sounds good,” Travis smiles. Garret smiles back. It lasts a few seconds before Travis stands up and moves away to return his dishes.

 

Morgan takes the opportunity of Travis leaving to pounce on Garret. “What was that?”

 

“What was what?” Garret frowns.

 

“Are you and Travis…?”

 

“No,” Garret exclaims. He scolds himself internally for being so loud. “Of course not,” he says a little quieter.

 

“Hey,” Morgan says gently. “You can talk to me.”

 

Garret’s expression pulls tight. He doesn’t even know Morgan that well, but he appreciates the sentiment. He’s actually considering telling Morgan about his stupid thing for Travis when the man himself comes back.

 

“Why’s it so moody here?” Travis asks as he sprawls back in his chair. It scrapes on the floor tiles as it shifts minutely toward Garret.

 

“Nothing,” Garret says immediately, giving Morgan a look.

 

Morgan sighs and raises both hands in defeat. “My offer still stands, you know.”

 

Garret nods mutely. Travis looks between both of them with confusion.

 

“I guess I’ll go bother Jake then,” Morgan says and gets out of his seat, leaving Garret with a forbearing glance. He doesn’t meet Morgan’s eyes.

 

“What was that about?” Travis turns with a wacky look.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Garret says and takes a swig of Travis’s drink. It’s just water. Damn, Garret was hoping for something more interesting. “Just water?”

 

Travis’s face reverts back to his normal face, the one with softened eyes and a wide grin. “Gotta keep hydrated, bud.”

 

Garret knows Travis hates drinking water, usually. He chuckles. “Sure, okay.”

 

He knows Morgan probably forced it upon Travis to get water.

 

“So we’re doing it, right?”

 

Garret takes a look at Travis’s face and sees the half-lidded gaze radiating gentle tenacity, a soft smile lying across his lips. Garret has to blink, as if the process allows him to take a snapshot of the moment. He hopes it’s branded in his memories.

 

“Yeah,” Garret exhales, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”

 

Travis laughs. The sound twinkles in Garret’s ears. He’s so far gone for him.

 

When Garret was talking to Kyle, the prospect of having a Bond with Travis had seemed like the best idea in the world. But now, as he basks in the warmth of Travis’s happiness, it seems like he may have fated himself to eternal longing. Maybe it’s the worst decision he’s ever made.

  
  
  
  
  


“Kyle wants us in his office,” Travis says as he bounds over to Garret’s stall next to Freddie. Practice has just ended, the first one after their OT win against Montreal for their home opener.

 

The spring in Travis’s steps betrays his thoughts. They both have an idea of what’s going to happen in that office, but the rest of the team doesn’t. Travis attracts a few curious gazes in his direction, the mention of Kyle piquing interest. Even Fred sends a inquisitive eyebrow their way.

 

“Yeah?” Garret says. It’s more rhetorical than anything. “Let me put my shoes on, then we can go.”

 

Travis nods with his stupidly big smile, teeth and all. He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

 

“Bonding?” Freddie asks with an endeared half-smile at Travis. The question is directed at Garret, mainly because Travis is too caught up in his thoughts to answer.

 

“Yeah.” Garret finishes tying his laces. “Should I be scared?”

 

Fred takes a swift look back and forth between Travis and Garret. He hums a little, mulling over whatever’s in his mind, “a hundred percent.” Freddie looks over at Connor in his stall. A wistful smile takes over his features.

 

“That makes me feel better,” Garret sighs as he finishes his laces. He smiles at Travis who’s moved on to talk to a lagging Justin Holl. He tilts his towards the door, _let’s go?_ Travis smiles wide and nods.

 

Garret gets up and exchanges a look with Fred before he leaves. He and Travis walk side by side through the dressing room.

 

“Ooh, are you in trouble?” Mitch yells from his stall. Travis turns to him with his tongue sticking out and flips him off.

 

“So much trouble,” Garret laughs. Travis bumps him a little and he almost goes teetering into Mango.

 

They make it to Kyle’s office without much delay afterwards, bodies only inches apart. Garret knows it’s stupid (Travis would _never_ settle for someone like him), but the amount of feeling behind that smile of his has his heart beating overtime. There’s heat radiating from the hand that’s so close to his. So what if he brushes Travis’s fingers with his own? So what if it wasn’t an accident? Garret isn’t brave enough to tell the truth, so he shuts up and lets Travis ramble about pugs and how he feels bad for them. Garret’s only half-listening, but he agrees.

 

They stand in front of the closed door, _Kyle Dubas - General Manager_ shines bright upon the gold piece of metal on the door. The glint causes him to swallow, choking down insufficient saliva. Travis stops talking and looks at Garret once. _Ready?_ Garret exhales and nods. Travis smiles and briefly knocks on the door before opening it.

 

“Kyle?” he asks as he pops his head in.

 

“Glad to see you Travis, Garret. Come on in,” Kyle smiles welcomingly. He waves both of them in from his spot beside Babs. Garret didn’t know Babs was going to be there, but now that he thinks about it, it makes total sense.

 

“Alright boys, I’ll only be here a moment. In the background, mostly. Kyle’ll be doing most of the negotiating, I’ll add on if it’s necessary,” Babs says in his gruff voice, leaning on Kyle’s desk. Garret shrugs and Travis nods. The nervousness builds again.

 

“Okay, then. Let’s get down to business,” Kyle says. He’s still smiling. “So before we let you guys start on the Bonding process, we just want to make sure you guys are serious about it. I’m not going to lie and say that we wanted this specific pairing, but we’re definitely on board with it.”

 

Travis frowns a little. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, at first we wanted Garret and Freddie to Bond, but that isn’t an available option. It would’ve been a great way for you,” he nods at Garret, “to gain knowledge and confidence playing at the NHL level.”

 

Garret doesn’t like how that sounds. Travis could help him with both those things.

 

“As for you, Travis, we were really hoping for a steady D-partner for you to Bond to. But we’re still not sure of the permanency of anyone yet, so we didn’t want to run into things prematurely.”

 

Travis nods in understanding but the frown remains. Garret nudges him a little in support. Kyle’s eyes flick down at the movement and the smile on his face grows softer.

 

“Okay,” Garret says. “So me and Travis can still Bond anyways?”

 

“Yes. Unless either of you still want to back out? It’s not too late to do so.”

 

Travis shakes his head vehemently, “no, I’m good.” He looks to Garret, worried. _You still want this, right?_

 

“No, I want Travis,” Garret states, loud and clear.

 

Kyle shares a look with Babs, who makes towards the door. Kyle beams. “Sounds good. There’s a few things we have to sign before the trainers can tell you about Bonding.”

 

“Great job, boys,” Babs nods, even though they haven’t done anything yet. “I’ll be looking to see how that Bond works out on the ice.” He leaves the room with a small but still present smile on his face.

 

Garret catches Travis’s eyes with a stray look. They’re lit up with delighted anticipation.

 

“Okay, I’ll just list a few mandatory things about how the Bond will work logistically. How to actually Bond and things like that will be up to the trainers.” Kyle looks them both in the eyes. They nod. It seems like the appropriate thing to do.

 

“In your Bonding Agreement,” Kyle shifts a wad of papers towards them both, “you’ll see that there’s a legal contract for you both to stay Bonded to each other for the full season. This means _you_ guys can’t back out of it. No asking for a different partner. It’s preferred for Bonds to last for the full terms of each of your contracts. However, if extenuating circumstances do arise, and a trade is on the horizon, you will have to break the Bond. We won’t be sheltering anyone just because of their Bond, but rest assured, we’re not looking for a trade involving either of you this season.”

 

There’s a flash of worry on Travis’s face. Garret watches it pass. He knows for sure Travis won’t get traded anytime soon, but he hopes he can do enough to stay in the Leafs Org. The feeling isn’t ice water in his veins, but it’s close.

 

“Any questions?” Kyle smiles. They shake their heads as they leaf through their Agreements. “Are we good to sign today, or do you guys want to have a talk with your agents?”

 

They both leave ten minutes later, holding identical copies of signed Agreements and a gentle order to go to the trainers to start their Bonding process as soon as possible. It takes ten more minutes for the trainers to explain to them how to Bond. It’s nothing too complicated, their main instructions are just hanging out with each other and introducing a little more physical contact. Knowing each other mentally and emotionally, _trusting_ each other creates the Bond. Travis asks for a timeline for when they should be Bonded by, but the trainers just wave them off. A week is quick and a month is long. But every pair is different, they say. Don’t expect Bonding to be logical and follow guidelines, they say.

 

It’s a little overwhelming to Garret. He hasn’t been exposed to Soul-Bonding in hockey yet except for the little glimpses he gets during practice. He hasn’t seen the nitty gritty of when Bonds are really needed, when someone needs their Other for support. It seems useful, especially when he sees how Jake and Mo move together on the ice, the way they know what the other person’s actions are going to be next. But Travis seems way more at ease with what the trainers are saying; he must’ve gotten used to it from his first foray into the NHL last year. Garret’s glad Travis is at ease, because at least then, one of them kind of knows what they’re doing.

 

When they return to the dressing room, Garret realises not many people had left. Everyone’s dressed in their normal clothes already, but they’re still loitering. It’s obvious; they’re all waiting for the gossip, anticipating some sort of big secret. Mitch catches on first when he sees the wads of paper in their hands and the flushed nature of Travis’s cheeks. Everyone knows that Travis only flushes when he’s excited.

 

“You guys are Bonding,” Mitch shouts out, pointing a finger at them. It should seem accusatory, but the bright grin on his face makes it harmless.

 

Travis nods happily. “Oof,” he grunts out as Mitch barrels into him. Garret laughs lowly.

 

“That’s really good,” Mitch says sincerely.

 

“What do you mean?” Garret asks.

 

“Well, it’s a sign of you staying for sure. Both of you.”

 

Garret raises his eyebrows.

 

“What if it’s only for a year?” Travis blurts out. Mitch looks at him confused.

 

“Well, when are your contracts over?” Mitch asks. “If it’s this year, then they’ll ask about keeping your Bond when you resign.”

 

The mood grows heavy. The unspoken question of a trade hangs in the air.

 

“Damn,” Travis says. He worries at his lower lip with his teeth.

 

“Hey, no, it’s great that you guys are getting a Bond. You wanna know how to actually Bond?” Mitch changes the topic smoothly. “Me and Auston literally just played video games everyday for two weeks straight before it took.”

 

Mitch is smiling, but there’s something he’s hiding. Garret is a little surprised that Auston and Mitch were allowed to Bond.

 

“I didn’t know Auston was your Other,” Garret wonders.

 

“Yeah… it took some convincing but, in the end, they let us,” Mitch shrugs.

 

“Huh.” Garret knows they like forwards and defensemen to Bond with players on their own lines. He wonders how Mitch and Auston were able to convince management when it seemed like they’d never get to play with each other.

 

It takes a moment for Garret to realise that Travis has been dragged away by Mitch to a corner of the dressing room. Somewhere close to Willy. They’re speaking to each other animatedly. Sometimes they glance back at Garret. Garret can’t read the look on Travis’s face completely, but there’s worry mixed in there. His mind starts to back-pedal. What if this isn’t what Travis wants?

 

A hand claps down on his shoulder, almost making him jump. It’s Morgan.

 

“Finally getting that Bond for sure, eh?” Morgan smiles.

 

“Yeah. It’s been on our agenda for some time,” Garret sighs, and sits at his stall. Freddie’s gone. Coincidentally, so is Connor.

 

“On your agenda?” Morgan waggles his eyebrows.

 

Garret slits his eyes. “Come on, Mo. You know what I mean.”

 

Morgan grows serious. “Hey, man, I meant what I said last time. You can tell me shit.”

 

“I’m just worried,” Garret exhales. “Maybe this won’t last. And maybe it wasn’t good for us to have a Bond. Maybe it isn’t good that Travis is going to be my… Other.”

 

Morgan scoffs. “Sparky, even after only a month of playing with you guys, literally everyone can see that you guys help each other. It’ll be a good Bond. For both of you.”

 

“But what if he doesn’t actually want to be my Other?” Garret whispers. What if Garret’s just too selfish?

 

“That’s stupid as hell,” Morgan says. “If he didn’t want to be your Other, he’d have declined.”

 

Garret smiles darkly. “I guess so.” He turns his head when he hears Travis’s loud laugh. Travis’s head is thrown back in joy. His smile turns softer.

 

“You really want this Bond.” It’s a statement, not a question.

 

Garret’s smile grows bittersweet. “Yeah. I do.”

  
  
  
  
  


After that day, they start Bonding. Nothing’s changed too much, but everything is _different._ The team seems more supportive, Babs a little less rough, the ice smoother. It probably isn’t reality at all, probably only seeming that way in Garret’s mind. What was that called again? A paradigm shift. That’s what Travis has caused. And Garret’s fine with it, because if it means he’s more open to the world, he’ll take pining over Travis—the _only_ perfect human being—any day.

 

For the next few days during practices, Travis stays at Garret’s end of the rink. He’s always defending for him, in front of his net and _not_ Freddie’s, and always in his vicinity. He talks to Garret more, communicating about plays, drills, or just spewing out random little anecdotes. He’s been touching Garret a lot more—and it’s not just the stick taps that Garret always seems to get on his pads any more. It’s advanced to Travis knocking his helmet with his own and giving him hugs even when it’s unnecessary. He would sidle up to Garret after he took on a round of shooting drills that Travis hadn’t even participated in. If he did well, Travis would smile. If he did bad, Travis would also smile. But since Travis has started being more attentive towards him during practice, there’s never a moment where Garret doesn’t want to do his best.

 

The way Travis has been acting has translated into Garret’s actions, too. Garret’s always checking in on Travis after the skate-heavy drills. He knows Travis is fine and that he’s been doing this for years, but there’s something in his brain that just wants to make sure that Travis is always okay. It wasn’t like this before, and even though it’s just been a few days, but Garret can’t seem to stop it. It doesn’t seem like Travis minds too much either when Garret hooks him aside with his stick and asks him if wants water from Garret’s water bottle since his is too far away on the bench. He just smiles and agrees, squirting water into his mouth and getting it all over his face.

 

Their hockey has fared better as well, since they’re always conversing about what each other’s strengths and weaknesses are. Every second on the ice brings another second of interaction. It’s just the way it is.

 

If Garret thought his stupid thing for Travis was ever going to go away, he was, obviously, thinking like an idiot. There is no way in hell that he’s ever going to stop admiring, loving, caring for Travis after they Bond. It will only become more intense, and ultimately, consume him. It doesn’t seem like a bad way to go. Having Travis by his side, even if he always wants _more,_ outweighs the cons in every single situation.

 

Garret better learn to control his growing feelings. Fast.

 

He thought he would have more time to calm himself down and be more rational. But it seems fate works in twisted ways.

 

It’s only the fourth day since they started Bonding when Travis asks if he could come over to Garret’s and hang out. It’s their day off, so Travis could spend the whole day over if he wanted to.

 

“What do you want to do here?” Garret laughs. He can think of so many other things they could do _outside_ Garret’s place.

 

Travis whines over the phone. “I haven’t seen your place yet. It’s been, like, a year. Don’t you think I could see my Other’s condo?”

 

Garret’s heart skips a beat at being Travis referring to him as his Other.

 

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have much stuff here. Unless you wanna play Fortnite?” It’s a weak offer, but it’s all he the entertainment he has that Travis would enjoy. Maybe Chel too.

 

“Why not? Still counts as hanging out, right? I’ll be there in twenty. Send me your address.” He hangs up immediately after that.

 

Garret smiles down wistfully at his phone, shaking his head reverently. He texts Travis his address, to which he responds with a bunch of thumbs up emojis. He tosses his phone on his couch and walks out to his balcony. It’s a bit chilly since it’s October, but Garret likes the nip of the wind against his skin. It feels like being on the ice.

 

His balcony faces south, so he can catch a glimpse of Lake Ontario in the near distance. The water looks calm, its blue-green waves reflecting the clear sky perfectly. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the crisp autumn air. Garret stays outside for a few more minutes, until he gets bored of watching the meager waves disappear behind sky-scraping buildings. When he goes inside, he picks up after himself a little. His condo isn’t that dirty, he keeps up with the cleaning and everything, but it does help to hide that bag of Doritos he bought a few days in celebration of Bonding.

 

Time slips away from Garret, and he’s a bit caught off-guard when the knock comes at his door. He has a doorbell. There’s probably something to be said about why Travis chose to knock. Garret doesn’t really think about it too much. He’s worked up a tiny sweat from whirling around his condo trying to tidy everything up.

 

He swipes a hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses, hoping he looks presentable. He’s worrying way too much for this, but even knowing that doesn’t help him calm down. Garret opens the door to a beaming Travis. There’s an undercurrent of mischief lurking in those sea-blue eyes.

 

“Hey,” Travis smirks. He traipses past Garret without much trouble.

 

“So this is where the great Garret Sparks lives,” Travis smiles as he turns back. He’s slipped off his shoes at the entryway, either picking up on Garret’s socked feet or having grown up with the habit.

 

“Not that great,” Garret snorts. “Just your average minor-league goalie.”

 

Travis’s grin turns wicked. “Not anymore, baby. Made it to the NHL, after all.”

 

“Good luck, I guess,” Garret teases as he closes the door. “You want anything?”

 

“For what?” Travis asks. He bounces down on Garret’s couch and makes a face when he lands on Garret’s phone. He holds it out accusingly. Garret takes it from him with a snort and slips it into his sweats pocket.

 

“To drink. What else?”

 

Travis shrugs. He hangs onto the back of the couch as Garret walks closer to him. Travis looks at the walls and stops.

 

“Woah,” Travis says as his eyes catch the stray canvases lying around Garret’s apartment. Ah shit, he didn’t put them away. He forgot that he hadn’t told any of his teammates about his paintings. “Did you paint these?”

 

Garret ponders over what he’s going to say for a minute. He decides to skip over the insincere jokes. “Yeah. All of them.”

 

Travis leaps off from the couch and kneels down to the painting of the Toronto city skyline. Garret has to bite his tongue to scold Travis for being so brash. He could have hurt himself.

 

The painting is one of his more abstract pieces, the rigid paint-strokes outlining the hard, straight edges of high-rise buildings in hues of Leafs blue. Blue isn’t the only colour on there, but it’s the focal-point. Travis’s fingers stroke the ridges where Garret’s brush once touched, purposely creating a rough three-dimensional texture. They linger on the canvas for just a second before Travis gasps involuntarily—silent and delicate—and jerks his hand away.

 

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin them.”

 

Garret smiles. “You won’t. It’s just paint.”

 

“They’re more than that,” Travis says reverently. It’s like he’s stuck in a haze. “So much more.”

 

Garret hums and moves to kneel next to Travis. Travis turns to look at him and smiles so brightly that it shines like the sun. No one knows Garret paints except his family. Well, they know, but they don’t _know._ They don’t understand the true extent of what painting and drawing and art means to him. Everyone thinks he just bullshits away some random piece for his mask every year just because it looks cool, but it’s so much more. Just like Travis said.

 

“This one’s one of my favourite paintings,” Garret says as he digs around for the more realistic one he painted of the Flatiron building.

 

Travis smiles wider. “Is this the building on Wellington?”

 

Garret nods. It’s one of his favourite buildings. It’s been in Toronto for decades and that speaks to him. There’s also a water fountain not far from the building that has various dog statues on top. It’s very charming and cheerful.

 

“Dude.” Travis’s voice is awed. “This is amazing. How did I not know about this?”

 

Garret looks at Travis, his heart aching. “There’s a lot of things people don’t know about me.” His tone is careful. “But there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you. Maybe it’ll be different when we have the Bond.”

 

And just like that, Travis is determined again. “It will be. I promise it will.”

 

Garret smiles again. Travis really does understand him.

 

“You know,” Garret starts, softly, a bit unsure and hesitant, “I never thought I would have this.”

 

Travis turns to look into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

 

“Didn’t grow up with too much of a foundation for hockey. The road to being a goalie wasn’t great, either.” The corners of his mouth turn up into a smile, but it’s cold.

 

“Why do you do it then?”

 

“Because I love the sport. Because of my family.”

 

“Your family?”

 

“They’ve supported me so much along the way—financially and mentally. I can’t stop now, not when everything’s right there.”

 

Travis worries at his lip. “It’s hard.”

 

Garret nods. “The media doesn’t make it any better.”

 

“Yeah,” Travis sighs and closes his eyes. He slowly drifts down onto Garret’s hardwood floor, sprawling upon the cool surface. “Most of them tend to be bags of dicks.”

 

“The ground’s dirty, you know,” Garret looks on endearingly.

 

“You’re the one who’s responsible for cleaning it.”

 

“Touché,” Garret grins and settles next to Travis.

 

“You know, peewee hockey wasn’t great for me.” Travis’s tone is serious. Garret looks at Travis and urges him on silently.

 

“I was too happy. And I was small. They used to laugh at me for smiling too much, which is pretty ironic. They’d push me around, since I was so tiny, and I couldn’t really do anything about it.”

 

The embers of animosity spark within Garret’s chest.

 

“And then?”

 

“And then I realised I didn’t care. It’s shitty for people to not like your happiness, so I just dialed everything up to a thousand and hoped it pissed them off.”

 

“Did it?”

 

The reminiscent smile on Travis’s face speaks a thousand words. “Oh yeah. Got a black eye and everything, but it was well worth it.”

 

There’s a moment of silence as Travis’s words fade between them.

 

“So?” Travis looks at him.

 

“So what?”

 

“What do you feel right now?” It feels like they’re taking a step in a new direction. It’s Garret’s turn to decide if he’s going along.

 

“A lot of fucking anger.”

 

Travis snorts, “that’s stupid. Why?”

 

“Those kids sound like assholes.” Garret gazes at Travis imploringly. “Never stop being happy. Always express yourself. Or else you’re not you anymore.”

 

Travis turns his head away from Garret quickly and smiles.

 

They lapse into silence again.

 

“How does this make you feel?” Travis asks, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

 

“What?” Didn’t he already say?

 

“We’re supposed to talk about our feelings right? Helps the Bond. So how do you feel about this whole thing? I mean, us Bonding and all.” Travis reaches a hand towards the ceiling and stretches his finger. Garret’s eyes follow the movement.

 

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. There’s a mix of emotions that are churning in his chest and he’s not sure if it would be the best for him to be spilling them all out.

 

“Well, I’m really glad you’re my Other. I’ve been waiting for this for… forever.” There’s a chuckle from Travis. Garret can’t help but smile as well.

 

“Same,” he says. The tingling grows stronger. “It’s only you, Travis.”

 

Travis turns his head towards Garret, prompting Garret to do the same. His glasses slip towards the ground. And in that moment, Garret swears there’s nothing more angelic than Travis’s face, white teeth on full display. His cheeks hurt from grinning so much.

  
  
  
  


When Garret wakes up, on the seventh day after they started Bonding, he feels disappointment. He had dreamt. He wasn’t quite clear on the details of the entirety of the dream, but the feeling of holding Travis in his arms isn’t going to go away any time soon.

 

He tries to forget about it. It doesn’t happen and the dream haunts him endlessly. He decides to take a shower instead, maybe the scalding hot water will cause too much pain for him to think about anything else.

 

He’s only just begun to rinse off the suds in his hair when he feels something in his chest. Garret tries not to fall when he jumps as the feeling grows stronger. It’s like a tug in his muscles. But he knows it isn’t.

 

It takes a few seconds of clutching the slippery wall in fear—fear for his health, maybe it’s a heart attack—before he realises, oh, that’s just Travis.

 

Holy shit. That’s just _Travis._

 

He turns off the water as quick as he can and runs out of his bathroom. He almost slips twice, he’s dripping water and soap everywhere, but he realises he doesn’t really care. He fishes around in his bed for his phone. Travis picks up on the second ring.

 

“Hello?” he says, sounding absolutely breathless.

 

“Was that you?” Garret asks.

 

“Well, yeah,” Travis drawls and Garret feels the pounding in Travis’s heart. He feels the adrenaline rush through his body. “Were you expecting to Bond with someone else?”

 

And Garret is breathless, too, when he answers, “no. Of course not. It’s only been you.”

 

He hears Travis’s breath hitch. And then Travis starts laughing maniacally, which is kind of what Garret expected. Garret can’t help but smile into his phone and chuckle under his breath alongside him. There’s a warm rush in his chest coming from Travis, it washes him in love and support and excitement and hope. Garret can’t really believe this is what Travis feels all the time. He tries it himself, trying to send a little encouragement over the bond to express his pleasure with the situation. It’s really hard not to push all his want and desire into the bond.

 

He knows it’s worked when there’s a tingle of surprise down his spine that melts into contentment.

 

“Dude. It’s gonna be crazy on the ice,” Travis whispers into the phone.

 

“Yeah,” Garret says. “Even more insane than you usually are.”

 

Travis protests the phrase as soon as it leaves Garret’s mouth. Garret just laughs.

 

There’s a million feelings he’s experiencing right now, but there’s just one that holds all his attention.


	3. are you with me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a slight narrowing of Travis’s eyes—which, oh yeah, Travis felt the doubt Garret was feeling for sure—before he relaxes. The emotion was slight enough that Travis thought it wasn’t important enough to pursue. Thank God.
> 
> “You’re hiding something,” Travis pouts.
> 
> “Babs,” Garret reminds him. He pushes at Travis with his stick lazily.
> 
> “Fine, then. Be like that. You can’t deflect forever!”

Bonding isn’t what Garret expected. No one had prepared him for it. Mitch hadn’t helped—not when he ran off with Travis during every conversation they had. Mo didn’t either, especially not when  _ he _ was distracted by Jake and blabbered on about how great  everything was when he was his Other’s D partner. Garret wanted to talk to Fred about it. Really, he did. He’d tried all day to strike up a conversation, he only needed to force himself to turn to his right and just open his mouth. All his efforts had failed. He was too intimidated by him. And the thing is, Garret didn’t know why; Freddie is always easy-going and chill enough to be easy to talk to. 

 

Garret also realised quickly that being freshly Bonded really didn’t help him on the ice. With his first NHL game of the season quickly approaching, the thought of playing like this freaked him out. A lot. 

 

“This is shit,” Travis says to him as he skates up to his net during practice, away from his drill.

 

Garret sighs inwardly and gets up from his position in the net, lifting his helmet up to get a drink of water. He sprays himself liberally before trying to answer Travis. “You’re telling me. That puck hasn’t seen a pad or a glove yet.” 

 

Travis scowls. “Well, it wouldn’t be close to the net if it wasn’t my fault.” 

 

The space in his chest grows taut and hot. Prickling. 

 

“Hey,” Garret glares, faux-heat in his eyes. “Still should’ve saved them. Plus, it’s a team sport, right?” 

 

That statement pulls a reluctant snort from Travis, as if he had no control over stopping the sound from coming out of his mouth. 

 

“Yeah, okay, team sport,” Travis mocks. “Are you one of the defensive fans now?” The smile Garret is accustomed to flashes back onto his face. 

 

The tension in Garret’s chest melts until there’s only a thrum of mellow vibrations. It feels warm, different from the heat from before. 

 

“At least I’m not the mean ones,” Garret shrugs. He slaps his helmet down, the neck-guard swinging violently in the air. It almost smacks Travis in the face, which is telling of how  _ close _ he is to Garret at the moment. The realisation causes Garret’s heart to speed up just a little, just enough for a sudden rise of panic. 

 

“I think Babs is mad,” Garret nods towards the aforementioned man before Travis can grill him about what he, no doubt, just sent across the Bond. It’s not like Garret is wrong; the man in question is fuming red. Must be getting mad about his second-string goalie taking up precious developmental time for his rising defensive star. 

 

There’s a slight narrowing of Travis’s eyes—which, oh yeah, Travis felt the doubt Garret was feeling for  _ sure— _ before he relaxes. The emotion was slight enough that Travis thought it wasn’t important enough to pursue. Thank God. 

 

“You’re hiding something,” Travis pouts. 

 

“Babs,” Garret reminds him. He pushes at Travis with his stick lazily. 

 

“Fine, then. Be like that. You can’t deflect forever!” 

 

There’s heavy dissatisfaction in Garret’s chest, pulsing in from the Bond. He’s ninety percent sure Travis is over-exaggerating the feeling. Garret will let Travis throw a tantrum for a while. He needs to get used to it anyway. 

 

It’s only minutes later that he realises he  _ can’t. _ The Bond is like a second heartbeat in his chest, pumping a second pulse that rings even louder in his ears. He flubs up when measly shots are tossed in his direction, barely any force behind them. 

 

They keep finding their way to the back of his net. 

 

The goalie coach keeps frowning at him, and it won’t be long until Babs takes notice. Garret knows he shouldn’t make excuses, but the way Travis feels things is too drastic from the way he feels things. It catches him off-guard every minute. Was the Bond a mistake? Garret knows Travis is having just as much trouble dealing with the emotional stress of having a Bond. He can feel the surprise and frustration rolling in waves. 

 

It was a mistake. 

 

Garret guesses he was too obvious with his thoughts, because the next thing he knows, Travis has stopped completely in the middle of the ice, unrepentant and steadfast to the trainers’ worried and disbelieving yells. Travis is staring straight at him, the unbridled anger burning into Garret’s forehead like a hot poker from Travis’s gaze even from yards away. Travis stomps towards him—Garret doesn’t know how he’s doing it, he’s on ice — and Garret is mildly worried for his life. 

 

“I don’t know what it is you’re actually thinking, but you need to chill the fuck out. There’s just a bunch of doubt I feel right now, and I for sure know it’s not me. Because I wouldn’t doubt the thing between us,” Travis says. Garret winces. 

 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Garret lies. 

 

Travis frowns. “Take your mask off and say that again.”

 

Garret hesitates. 

 

“I fucking knew it. Stop doubting yourself, stop doubting  _ us. _ We’re in this together. If I didn’t want this Bond, I would’ve  _ told _ you. So let’s just keep it going. Okay?” 

 

Garret nods mutely. Travis smiles, but it’s hiding just enough hurt that Garret feels like he did something wrong. 

 

Travis skates away to the sound of the assistant coaches badgering at him. Garret should have said something. It feels like there’s a valley between them, as deep as the Mariana Trench. 

 

But he can’t do anything about it now, the moment has passed. 

  
  
  
  
  


Travis is still angry when practice ends and they have to clamber into an unfamiliar Chicago dressing room. Garret feels half awed at the prospect of being in an NHL dressing room in Chicago—even though he’s part of the away team—and half disheartened from what happened on the ice. If this is a precursor for how the game is going to go tomorrow, Garret doesn’t feel too confident. 

 

The order that they sit in the stalls is different than it is in Toronto, just because the layout of the dressing room is different, and Garret gets an eyeful of disappointed Travis every single time he looks up from taking his gear off. Not that he wouldn’t have known from the obvious waves of stabbing despondency that was sent across the Bond. Garret understands. But he also doesn’t at the same time. 

 

He finally gets his pads off, drying himself off with a quick wipe down with a towel. It’s then that he decides to catch Travis. It’s too late. Mango’s already dragged him to the side to converse with. The roiling disappointment ebbs away to staccatoed joy. Garret grits his teeth, hangs his towel up, and tries not to project whatever emotions he’s feeling right now across the Bond. By the time he looks up again, Freddie is giving him a sympathetic look, perhaps more pity than sympathy. Garret feels too angry at himself to put much thought into it. He leaves the dressing room feeling empty. 

  
  
  
  
  


When they play against Chicago the next day, the Bond feels better between them. It’s settled down a little from yesterday’s shitshow of a practice, yet there’s still something that’s off. Garret can’t put a finger on it, but something just doesn’t feel right. 

 

Travis talks to him before the game too, joking and leaning into his personal space like usual. He flies off toward Mango before they get on the bus which is pretty routine. There isn’t anything specifically directed toward the Bond anymore, nothing that’s supposed to make Garret feel guilty about his own self-doubt. (Which, the whole thing seems a little backwards to him. Travis is trying to put doubt in his mind in order for Garret to doubt his own doubt. It’s excessively complicated, but also smart in a way that makes Garret’s head hurt.) All he gets from the Bond is just a normal cycle of Travis’s everyday emotions; happiness, excitement, disbelief, irritation, happiness, and then more happiness. 

 

From Garret’s viewpoint, they’re at an okay place right now. 

 

So when the game actually starts and they step onto the rink, the ice under Garret’s skates begins to crack. There’s still something that causes Garret to feel like his whole axis is tilted, that his centre of balance has shifted. He can’t shake it off, and it shows in the game. His parents and sister are in the stands, so he really wants to win this game. It’d be a big moment for him—winning in front of his family, in his home state, and with his Other. 

 

And they do win the game, just not in the way Garret wanted to. 

 

Just like yesterday, the Bond is everywhere. Travis’s feelings are too much for him to handle, they slam into his chest like a freight truck. It’s like a car crash of emotions, and not the good kind of emotions either. It’s mainly a lot of adrenaline and panic and uncertainty. That, in return, greatly influences Garret’s own feelings. He scrambles a lot more for the shots he can see, overshooting as he slides to block the puck. He doubts himself more when he can’t see the puck, ultimately causing him to make a lot of wrong guesses. There’s not much confidence that he feels playing in this game, just the sheer desire to win pushing him on. He might not deserve to win, but at least his team does. 

 

As a result, he lets six goals in. Travis doesn’t seem to fare better; he only grows more irritated as the game progresses. Garret remembers how Travis had been fighting in front of the net, remembers feeling anxious that he wouldn’t be able to see  _ because _ of Travis. He was right. The shot had resulted in a goal. The consequent explosion of anger, irritation, and annoyance across the Bond sent him careening out of his goal. He needed to shake off how Travis was feeling. Then, after the game, he would have a harsh talking to Travis about his self-doubt. 

 

Garret can’t help but feel a sense of relief after Morgan nets the OT winner. He’s really thankful for Mo and really pissed at himself for playing like shit for most of the game. He guesses Travis is feeling the same thing, because those are the only two emotions that are settling down in his chest. He takes a final sweep of the stadium, trying to look for his family, before he walks down the tunnel. 

 

He hurries in the changing room, the discomfort of being in an unfamiliar place choking the overwhelming feeling of novelty that he had felt when he first entered. There’s a media scrum that he needs to appear for in twenty minutes. He has to get it done quick, or else his chance to talk to his family dissipates. Garret rushes his shower, making sure his contacts don’t slip out, and slicks his hair back quickly in lieu of a better, more thought-out hairstyle. 

 

There’s a quick jolt of sadness in his chest that he marks down as Travis’s doing. Garret grimaces and sends back remorse in response, hopefully not too heavily. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to anyone yet, not even Travis. He just wants to get everything over with before he relaxes and talks himself down. 

 

Fred pats him on the back when he shrugs on his blazer, a serious yet soft look on his face. Garret nods in thanks and forces himself to think about the positive things that happened in the game.

 

_ There’s not many positive things Garret can think of about the game and he doesn’t know how he’s going to lie to the press and he has to look confident and he doesn’t want to be cocky but he doesn’t want to look soft and— _

 

Standing in front of the media makes Garret feel claustrophobic. There are mics everywhere, cameras going off every second. The way everyone stares so intently at him with that malicious undertone drives his mind into chaotic disarray, sending all the mental notes he had flying out of his brain. There are a few questions about being back in Chicago, about being back  _ home, _ and Garret relaxes a little after answering those. It’s not hard to speak from his heart about the place in which he’s grown up. He blabbers about how he made a few good saves and how he still needs to work on things before he’s given the a-okay to leave. 

 

Garret shakes his hair a little when he goes back to the changing room, trying to dislodge the shit ton of gel he smothered it in. He lingers a little in the room, hearing the hectic yells of hockey players coming down from an OT win. He makes eye-contact with Travis once, whose raised eyebrows are directed towards him. He raises his own in response with his teeth clenched in hesitancy. 

 

_ ‘Family,’ _ he mouths. Travis’s eyebrows pinch in for just a smidge before he nods understandingly. Garret waves quickly to Mo and tries to stumble back to the rink. He finds his family just as lost as he is in the hallways. They’re near the entrance Garret had entered from when he got off the bus. 

 

“How’d you guys get in here?” he questions as he hugs his mom. He holds her tight, burying his nose in her sweater. It smells like the laundry-detergent of his childhood and her fresh, rosy scent. 

 

“Saw a guy in some Leafs thing at one of the entrances and told him we were looking for you,” his sister shrugs. Her earrings dangle back and forth with a musical clinking. “He let us in.” 

 

His heart clenches. She looks the same but also so different. 

 

“I missed you guys,” he swallows as his sister loops an arm around his shoulder. His dad pats him on the back heavily, smiling. 

 

“We missed you, too,” his mom looks on softly. “How do you feel?”

 

“Okay. Fine.” 

 

“Atta boy,” his dad says gruffly. The smile on his face settles in a little deeper. “Doing us proud.”

 

Garret nods, overcome. He clears his throat. 

 

“Well, let me get a proper look at you!” his mother exclaims. She pulls him to the side. “How are you? Actually this time. Don’t lie to me.” 

 

Garret looks to his dad and sister who are surveying their surroundings a few feet away and then back to his mother’s worried face. He sighs. “Honestly, fine. Nothing’s… bad. With the way everything’s going, I should be happy.”

 

“Should be?”

 

“Yeah.” He stops. Is he allowed to talk about his Bond? Kyle hasn’t talked about telling the media. Garret tries to imagine not telling his mom. He can’t. “Got that Bond I told you about when we won last year. Remember? Should be awesome.”

 

His mother smiles tenderly, sadly. He’d talked about having a Bond a long time ago. “How is it?”

 

“Good. It’s good.” He thinks about Travis. And, yeah, it is good. 

 

“Is he a nice, kind boy?”

 

Garret snorts. “Oh yeah. The nicest and kindest boy.” 

 

His mother’s face softens just a touch. “Good. Hopefully he’ll take care of you.” 

 

“Mom,” he whines. “It’s not like that.” 

 

It’s his mother’s time to snort. “Even if it’s not like that, God knows you need someone to look out for you. Would be nice if you told me his name, too.” 

 

Garret rolls his eyes. “Look out for me, sure. I’d be the one looking out for him, just so you know.”

 

His mother chuckles. “Okay, honey.” 

 

They’re both silent for a few seconds. His sister and dad are talking animatedly in the background. 

 

“It’s Travis, isn’t it?” she asks. Garret nods grimly. “You need to introduce him to me sometime soon.” 

 

Garret doesn’t respond. It’s answer enough. 

  
  
  
  
  


When Garret gets on the bus, not a minute before the time they’re actually supposed to leave by, Travis pulls him in the seat next to him. He’s disrupted the usual seating plan, causing a ripple effect in seat changes. Mango isn’t sitting next to Travis anymore in the back-centre of the bus, instead he sits next to Kappy. He’s displaced Willy in return, who is now sitting with Zach. Garret looks around wildly, taking in how one seating difference caused everything to change.

 

“Sparky,” Travis drawls. Garret turns his head to him quickly. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How are your family?” 

 

Garret relaxes. Travis smiles a little. 

 

“Good. They’re good. My mom wants to meet you.” 

 

Travis laughs, a sharp little giggle. “Me? Tell your mom I’d love to meet her.”

 

“Yeah,” Garret snorts, “that meeting’s never going to happen.”

 

“What?” Travis squawks, indignant. It’s accentuated even more when he shoves his head forward and almost crashes forehead first into the seat in front of them when the bus starts moving. “You can’t just neglect me a meeting with your mom! She seems so cool.”

 

“She is cool,” Garret smiles. “But you can’t meet her yet.” 

 

“I could’ve met her today.” There’s a pout on Travis’s face. Garret feels warmth in his chest, but it’s tinged with the bitterness of disappointment. 

 

“Well,” Garret says. He stops short. He doesn’t know what else he can say. They haven’t discussed the game yet, the elephant in the bus. 

 

The silence between them is interjected by a whoop coming from Mitch behind them. A quick thwack follows, presumably Auston smacking Mitch. 

 

Travis turns around quickly, almost hanging onto the seat. He waves to Enzo and Le Goat sitting behind them before breaking out in a fit of laughter. It feels airy and electric inside his chest. Garret tries to take a peek, finally seeing how Mitch has slicked the entirety of Auston’s hair back, exposing Auston’s forehead completely. He can’t help but snort as well. 

 

“Fuck,” Travis laughs as he settles back down in his seat properly after a quick yell from Babs. “That’s hilarious. And unfortunate.” 

 

Garret hums in agreement and thinks about his own slicked-back hair. 

 

“Dude. What about  _ my _ hair?” 

 

Travis clears his throat. “It’s not bad. Could be better.” 

 

Garret scoffs. What a liar. He can feel the quick bursts of amusement Travis feels. 

 

“Keep lying, Derms,” Garret huffs. 

 

Travis cackles and throws an arm out to whack his shoulder. Garret takes a look at Travis’s face and smiles. Soft. 

 

He’s almost forgotten about the game when he checks his phone. There’s a bunch of new notifications he has, on both Twitter and Instagram. His heart drops. His muscles tense up. Worry blooms suddenly in his chest.  _ Travis,  _ he thinks. He’s about to deny whatever he just sent across the Bond when he sees the look on Travis’s face. 

 

It’s so full of hurt and anger and anguish that Garret wants to wrap him in a blanket and hold him forever. But he can’t. 

 

Garret opens his mouth. Travis shakes his head. 

 

The bus ride goes on like that, tense and uncomfortable. Nothing like how it should be. 

 

He forgets all about Travis’s own self-doubt and the conversation he wanted to have. 


	4. i start wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis slips under the covers, right next to Garret. He can feel the heat radiating from Travis’s body. 
> 
> “What? Are you sleeping in here?” Garret squawks. 
> 
> “Yeah,” Travis mumbles, eyes closed.

They arrive at the hotel in Chicago during the middle of the night. Travis grabs their hotel key cards while Garret gets their suitcases. Garret trudges to the elevator silently, glad to listen to Travis ramble on with Mango. It doesn’t seem like Mango is listening much, but he’s smiling all the same. Garret tries not to think about what it would be like to sleep at home for a night.

 

“What floor are we on?” Garret asks Travis when they get on the elevator. There are eight guys in the elevator, all with their respective luggage, and it’s all tight spaces and a lack of oxygen. 

 

“Seventeen,” Travis says. “I think most of us are on seventeen.” 

 

Garret hums and holds on tight to the handles of their suitcases. Travis returns to his rousing conversation, but this time he’s talking to Mitch. Mitch seems content, and Garret can see why. His line with JT and Hymie had done particularly well that night. It makes sense that Mitch would seem so cheerful, but Garret doesn’t understand why Travis is also that energetic. It’s a complete one-eighty from their brief time on the bus, when the atmosphere had been sullen and suffocating. Garret wonders if he’s doing anything wrong. He wonders if Travis hates him a little. Or a lot. 

 

The elevator pings, and everyone rushes out of the tiny space. Garret lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and follows after Travis. They end up at door 1704, Garret still clutching onto their suitcases. 

 

“You could’ve just gave me mine, you know,” Travis mumbles as he unlocks their door and pushes inside. 

 

Garret makes a noncommittal noise and enters the room as Travis holds the door open for him. He sets the suitcases in a spot near the door and flops down face-first into the bed on the left. The bed-cover may be dirty, but at least it’s not as bad as it could be in a shittier hotel that he would’ve had the pleasure of staying at in a different league. He probably shouldn’t be lying down like that anyways, not in his suit at least. Just thinking about all the wrinkles it’ll have and the necessity of  _ ironing _ it makes Garret cringe. Well, lest he wants to get viciously chirped by Mo. 

 

He sits up quickly and thinks about grabbing another shower. There’s still a desire to check his phone that floats around in the back of his mind. 

 

“The WiFi’s not bad,” Travis says aloud. He throws his phone to the side of his own bed and strips out of his suit. Garret has to look away. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Garret takes the sleeve for their room cards from the bedside table. He picks up his phone and ponders about not connecting to the WiFi. He stares at it for a while, the silence in the room changing to the muted background noise of a random TV show. It switches to the intensity of Gordon Ramsay’s angered shouts of disapproval. Garret looks at the password to the hotel’s network and connects to the WiFi. 

 

It barely takes seconds for the notifications to stream in. He hasn’t muted any of his social media accounts, but he thinks about how much better that would be. He wouldn’t be getting these stupid mentions on Twitter that make him doubt his playing so much. He wouldn’t be getting comments on photos that he posted  _ months _ ago on Instagram describing the shitty nature of his goaltending style. He wouldn’t be checking YouTube to look at the comments of his interview and re-thinking his whole approach to dealing with the media. 

 

He’s always been honest, or as honest as he could be. 

 

“What are you doing?” Travis asks from his bed. Garret glances over. There’s a bunch of Travis’s skin on display as he sports his briefs. Garret quickly looks back down at his phone. Back to scrolling through YouTube comments. 

 

“Nothing,” Garret lies. 

 

“Stop looking at your social media,” Travis admonishes. 

 

Garret’s lips thin and he puts his phone face-down on the bedside table. 

 

“I’m going to shower again,” Garret says. He doesn’t know why he tells Travis. Travis won’t care. 

 

Travis nods. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

 

Garret’s lips quirk up despite himself. He sighs as he opens up his suitcase and grabs some clothes and his toilettries. 

 

He tries to keep the shower quick. He’s already mostly clean and the only reason he wanted a shower was because of all the gel in his hair. He forgot to bring his own shampoo, so the only thing he’s using is the shitty hotel shampoo. He might have to resort to body wash. 

 

And Garret has to admit, he doesn’t like taking showers. He doesn’t like it when he  _ has  _ to be alone with his own thoughts. Because then, shit like this starts to happen. He starts thinking about those  _ things _ people have said about him and agreeing with them. 

 

_ You’re not an NHL goalie, you belong in the AHL.  _

_ You’re garbage, shit, awful, mediocre.  _

_ I wouldn’t be happy after that 7-6 win if I were him.  _

_ Should’ve kept Curtis, Sparks is too inconsistent.  _

_ This guy sucks.  _

_ All those goals were your fault.  _

_ Play for your team. _

 

By the time he gets out of the shower, Travis is fuming under the covers of his own bed. Garret smiles, or tries to at least, and ends up grimacing instead. He gets into his own bed. The TV is off and the silence is jarring.

 

“Derms, what’s wrong with you?” He tries to keep the mood light. Tries to backtrack his own emotions so they don’t reach the Bond, but it’s too late. 

 

“I’m going to brush my teeth. And then you’re getting it.” Travis’s voice is scarily void of any emotion. The Bond is surprisingly quiet. Garret can’t gauge what Travis is feeling, not from the emptiness of his face. 

 

It takes Travis five minutes to finish up his nightly routine, one that Garret isn’t familiar with. There’s no animosity in any of his actions—no slam of the door, no harsh clang of a glass against the cold marble sink, no quick stunted movements. 

 

Garret spends half of those five minutes trying to figure out Travis’s mood and the other half trying not to reach for his phone. He doesn’t figure out what Travis is feeling, but he does manage to avoid his notifications. But then he remembers he has to charge his phone. And he looks at the screen when it lights up. 

 

“Seriously?” Travis says, just as Garret plugs the charger in. 

 

Garret turns his head. Travis is still mostly naked, and he’s barreling towards Garret’s bed with a very mad expression on his face. 

 

“I was just charging it.” Garret’s heart is in his throat. 

 

Travis jumps on his bed, looking ridiculous but also intimidating at the same time. “Don’t look at it. Turn your notifications off.”

 

“It’s fine, I don’t need to.” 

 

Travis stares at him, narrowing his brows. Garret doesn’t know where to look, not when Travis is inches away from him while being almost  _ naked. _

 

“Do it,” Travis commands. Garret raises both his hands in the air and complies. God, he’s weak. 

 

“Good,” Travis smiles after Garret takes the time to go into his settings and mess around with it. “Now, shut up and go to sleep.”

 

Travis slips under the covers, right next to Garret. He can feel the heat radiating from Travis’s body. 

 

“What? Are you sleeping in here?” Garret squawks. 

 

“Yeah,” Travis mumbles, eyes closed. 

 

Garret blinks at the light. “I feel like there’s a lot of things wrong with this. One, shouldn’t we be talking about the game? And, also, what would the guys say about this?”

 

“We can talk about the game later. It’s late. The guys wouldn’t say anything about this if they didn’t know,” Travis mutters, half-way to sleep. 

 

Garret doesn’t say anything in response. He nods to himself, almost manically. He turns the lights off from the bedside table and tries to sleep. It’s so weird and his heart won’t stop beating so goddamn  _ fast.  _ He’s glad Travis is asleep and can’t feel Garret’s nervousness from the Bond. Nervousness that stems from his attraction to Travis. 

He falls asleep trying not to reach for Travis. 

  
  
  
  
  


When they finally make it home to Toronto after the roadtrip, nothing else has happened. Garret managed to keep himself together after that night in Chicago, after Travis climbed into his bed like it was a total chill bro move. Garret didn’t say anything and Travis hadn’t either, so he lets it go. The subsequent nights return back to normal—Travis decides not to sleep in the same bed as him. 

 

That’s a good thing, because Garret wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself for that many nights. He’s proud of himself for not making any moves when he was unconscious and sleeping. He had woken up that first morning with Travis’s arms wrapped around  _ him, _ which means he hadn’t done anything to make Travis uncomfortable. But now, he’ll know what having Travis in his bed is like. In one manner, at least.

 

There’s still an issue that slips around in Garret’s mind, one that should’ve been discussed days ago. Because ever since the Chicago game, he and Travis haven’t talked about the Bond. The Bond that continues to wreak havoc in Garret’s life. But Garret doesn’t want to make Travis unhappy, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been unhappy.

 

So Garret tries to be happy and act normal instead of bringing down Travis’s mood. He talks to Le Goat and Mango during their meals, follows along with Mitch’s shenanigans, and tries to support Fred as much as he can. Although, Fred’s probably supporting him more than he’s supporting Fred.  

 

And everything is fine. (It’s not fine.)

 

Everything’s always fine if Travis is happy. 

 

The moment Garret gets to his own condo in Toronto, there’s a text that pops up on his phone. It’s Travis. 

 

_ Derms, SUN 10:32 AM _

_ Wanna come by and play some chel _

 

Garret takes a second and thinks. He sends,  _ Sure, at 2?  _ That should give him enough to take a nap and then eat some lunch before he drops by. Travis responds with a bunch of thumb up emojis. Garret smiles despite himself and throws his phone onto his couch. 

 

_ Don’t check your notifications. Don’t think about your worth. Don’t think about Travis. _

 

He ends up taking a three hour nap and sleeping past his alarm. When he wakes up, he’s quite panicked. He waives eating lunch and scurries to grab his Presto card to get to Travis’s condo in time. He puts on his shoes on the wrong feet and only realises it when he’s in the elevator. An old lady catches him frantically trying to fix his stupid mistake and raises a pencilled eyebrow at him. He shrugs with a sheepish and embarrassed look and tries to tie his shoes up as quick as possible. 

 

He’s almost made it to the subway station when his phone vibrates in his pants, making him jump. It’s a phone call from Travis. 

 

“Hey,” Garret greets, fumbling around for his Presto card to pay the fare without dropping his phone. 

 

_ “You okay?”  _ Travis says over the phone, sounding worried. 

 

“Uh, yeah,” Garret responds. He has to stay on the upper level of the subway station, or else his phone signal will cut out. “Why?”

 

_ “Oh, no, I just felt some pretty strong feelings of panic over the, you know…” _

 

“Huh?”

 

_ “Over the Bond.” _ The phrase comes out as a hushed whisper. Why is it a whisper?

 

“Oh. Man, I’m sorry, I just woke up really late. I was worried I wouldn’t make it for two,” Garret explains. He feels his face heat up. 

 

Travis sighs in relief. Garret can feel it through his side of the Bond.  _ “Thank God. I thought you got mugged or something.” _

 

“Sure,” Garret snorts. 

 

_ “It could happen, okay?” _

 

“Totally, Mo,” Garret jokes. “But for real, I gotta go catch the subway so I can make it on time.”

 

_ “Okay, okay. I’ll see you at two then.” _

 

Garret smiles to himself and hangs up. 

 

In the end, he does make it to Travis’s condo on time. He knocks on Travis’s door feeling indecisive about the whole thing. Maybe he shouldn’t be spending his free day that’s sandwiched between two game days screaming his lungs out while playing video games with a bunch of the guys.

 

Travis opens the door with a large smile and stares up at Garret with those eyes. There isn’t much noise coming from the inside of Travis’s condo, which surprises Garret a little. Because he sure as hell isn’t early. 

 

“Hey. Why’s it so quiet?” Garret smiles as he enters the condo after Travis invites him in. 

 

Travis looks at him with amused confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Garret takes in the empty condo. “Where’s everyone else?”

 

“Everyone else? I only invited you.”

 

“Oh,” Garret says. He pushes his glasses up his nose and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you’d have at least invited Mango or something.” 

 

Travis plops down on the couch and looks at him. “Why?”

 

Garret shrugs. “You seem to be good friends with him.” 

 

“So? You’re my Other.” 

 

And just by mentioning that, Travis has raised Garret’s heartbeat by at least fifteen beats per minute. 

 

Garret clears his throat and sits down next to Travis, at least a foot away. “Okay then. Let’s play some chel.” 

 

Travis looks at him and nods. He sets up the Xbox and hands Garret a controller. They get as far as the start menu before Travis sets his controller on the coffee table in a way that makes Garret supremely nervous. Garret had known it was coming, he’d felt the constricting discomfort from Travis over the Bond. 

 

“I didn’t invite you over today just to play Chel,” Travis admits as he looks down at his hand. There’s a layer of guilt that settles across his features. “We need to talk.”

 

Garret makes a weird noise, almost a hum but not quite, in agreement. He decides to play dumb. “What about?”

 

That comment gets Travis’s attention off of his hands. He gives Garret a pointed look instead. “The Bond. Come on, Sparky.”

 

“I’m just joking you. I know.” 

 

“The Bond’s been… so crazy. We need to stop sending  _ every _ emotion that we feel across. It’s distracting.” 

 

Garret hums. “Yeah. I agree.”

 

“And, like, I know it’s literally our first time being in a Bond—unless you’ve been in a romantic one before without telling me—but we need to control it. We need help.”

 

Garret frowns and tries not to dwell on the whole ‘first Bond’ thing. “Help? From who?”

 

“From people who’ve done it before, duh,” Travis laughs. “Like our teammates.” 

 

And now Garret isn’t as onboard with the idea of fixing their Bond as he had been. He doesn’t want people nosing around in  _ their _ business. 

 

“Uh. Which ones?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe Fred. Mo. Mitch. Those kinds of people, you know? People who have experience.”

 

Garret bites at his lip. “You sure you we can’t ask the trainers or something? They have experience, right?” 

 

“But… they  _ don’t _ have experience. Not like those guys do.” Travis’s frown looks upset and put down. He looks like a sad puppy. And Garret hates it when puppies are sad. Fuck, he hates it when  _ Travis _ is sad. So he lets go of his worries and takes a deep breath.

 

“Okay then.” 

 

Travis looks up at him with wide eyes. “So you’re in?”

 

Garret grins grimly, “yeah. I guess so.” 

 

Travis beams up at him with that white smile and those expressive eyes, and Garret knows he’s well and truly fucked if someone doesn’t teach him how to shield his emotions from the Bond. 

 

“You actually wanna play some Chel then?” Travis picks up a controller and stares on hopefully. 

 

Garret snorts with an endearing shake of his head. “Yeah, okay, Derms. Anything for you.”

  
  
  
  
  


It’s two days later on one of their days off that Travis drags a bunch of them out to lunch at Boston Pizza. It’s not a place that Garret would think to be holding a discussion about their Bond, especially since it’s such a public place. Travis tells him it’s okay, that they’ll be discreet. Well, Garret thinks it’ll be hard for them to be discreet when they have a bunch of excitable characters in their crowd like Mitch and Mo. They’ll get loud. Travis will probably get loud too. Maybe having their Others there, as well as  _ Freddie, _ will help. 

 

“How’s it going, huh?” Mo asks as he settles an arm over the back of Jake’s chair.  

 

“Would they be here if it wasn’t going pretty badly?” Auston snorts. 

 

Mitch glares at him immediately. “Matts, come on.” 

 

“I mean, it’s true,” Garret says. Travis laughs. 

 

“Okay, well,” Mitch scowls. “Still kinda mean.” He glares at Auston again. Auston shrugs lazily. 

 

“A-juice, shut your rude mouth for a sec, we’re gonna talk about  _ why  _ it’s so bad,” Mo drawls. “So why’s it so bad?” 

 

Travis looks at Garret and bites his lip. “It’s… just really hard to concentrate on my own emotions and not the ones coming through the Bond.” Garret feels a wave of anxiety wash over him.

 

Mo hums. “Yeah, that’s usually the main problem. I guess it’s different when you’re a goalie though.” Mo nods towards Garret. Garret nods back in agreement. 

 

“I can only help you out, Derms, since you play defense and all,” Mo says thoughtfully. 

 

“That’s fine,” Garret pipes up. “All info helps, anyways.” He gets a smile from Travis that makes the whole lunch worth coming for. 

 

Garret sits through most of lunch listening to Mo give advice to Travis with the occasional interruption from Gards. Sometimes Mitch throws in his two cents while Auston nods his head. Fred and Connor are sitting on the sidelines, merely observing. They chatter to themselves, Connor waving Fred closer to whisper in his ear. That brings out a soft, amused smile from Freddie most of the times.

 

Garret just sits there, wedged between chaos, and eats his pasta. He stabs a piece of penne viciously and feels a sense of satisfaction when the sauce oozes out from its hollow inside. 

 

“Is it better now? Easier to deal with?” Mo asks Travis, cutting into his steak. Garret had pondered that over when Mo first ordered. Steak for lunch.  _ Why not? Why not steak? _

 

Travis nods. “Yeah. I think I can control it better.” 

 

“See! That dropping a box off the cliff thing helped, right?” Mitch pipes up, tomato sauce on his chin. Auston throws a napkin at him. 

 

“No, not at all,” Travis snorts. “Didn’t even understand what you were talking about then, bud.”

 

“Compartmentalizing?” Jake looks up at Travis. Travis nods, pointing his fork at Jake with a large smile. 

 

Mo beams and wounds an arm tightly around Jake, squishing him to his side. “Aw, Jakey’s so good with the rookies. Helping them and everything.” 

 

Jake smiles at Mo exasperatedly. “Oh, yeah. You know me, sharing my knowledge with the young.”

 

“You got that right.” Mo whispers under his breath, “old man.”

 

Garret snickers at that and leans back in his chair a little. He may not fit into this team the best, but he can appreciate their laid-back sense of community. 

 

“Shut up, Mo,” Jake says and pushes Mo off of him with a fond smile. It’s gross. Garret wonders if he and Travis could be like that one day. 

 

“Wait, why don’t we try it out? See if it really helped,” Brownie says from Fred’s side. He eyes Travis with a smirk. Garret startles at his voice and expression. 

 

“Ooh, yeah, that’d be fun.” Mitch widens his eyes. 

 

The suggestion makes Garret’s lips twist. He doesn’t really want to be blocked from Travis’s emotions, even though he knows it’s detrimental to their hockey.

 

Travis sneaks a look at Garret. Garret nods slightly, showing his assent. If Travis wants to do it, then Garret will subject himself to being a guinea pig. Even though most of the table is looking on in various degrees of apprehension, Mo looks at Garret with piteous concern while Freddie gives him a stoic look with just a bit of eyebrow furrowing. 

 

“Okay,” Travis agrees, nonplussed. “What should I do?”

 

“Here, I’ll show you a few videos and you try not to broadcast across your Bond.” Mitch is smiling wickedly. Travis shrugs and agrees. 

 

Garret decides to watch Travis’s reactions along with the rest of the group for the first few videos that Mitch shows him. The first one has Travis laughing in tears, face bright red with exertion. Garret smiles privately to himself, but rips his glance away to avoid his own feelings from trickling across the Bond. The next one has Travis frowning. The one after that has Travis tearing up. It keeps going for a while, and Garret finds himself losing interest. 

 

He can’t feel anything from the Bond, and he doesn’t want to see all these emotions on Travis’s face without feeling them himself. He feels spoiled. He  _ is _ spoiled. 

 

“Sparky,” a voice calls from his right. Garret staggers, almost dropping his fork onto his plate. 

 

“Yeah, Fred?” He tries to smile pleasantly. 

 

“They’re so wrapped up with Derms,” Fred smiles ardently at the group clustered around Mitch and Travis, maybe towards Brownie specifically, “I feel like we should talk about your side of the problem.”

 

“Oh. I’m fine, really.”

 

Fred frowns. “Are you? Because this will affect Travis, too, if you don’t fix it.” 

 

Garret’s lips thin. And okay, Freddie does have a point. He doesn’t want to be the reason that Travis plays a bad game. He’ll suck it up. 

 

“You got me,” Garret sighs. “Some advice would be really helpful.”

 

Freddie’s lips perk up a little. “I’m guessing you’re having trouble blocking your emotions from the Bond then?”

 

“Yeah. Like Travis.” 

 

“I bet,” Fred smiles wistfully. “How’ve you been dealing with it? Brute force?”

 

“Uh, I guess. Mainly just trying to push everything away. Stop it from happening so it didn’t have the chance to be sent across the Bond.”

 

Fred hums. “That’s an understandable way to do it, but it probably makes it worse, right?” Garret nods slowly. “Yeah, I used to do that, too. But that’s not the way to go about it. Trying to stop it will only make it stronger.”

 

Garret looks at him pleadingly. “Then what do I do? How else can I stop it?” 

 

Fred stares at him amusedly. “You can’t…  _ stop _ it. You have to think about it differently. Cutting it off just makes everything worse, like you’ve experienced before.”

 

“Then how do I do that?” 

 

“Well, okay, where do you feel the Bond? Everyone feels it in a different place. For example, I feel my Bond in my neck. It tingles.”

 

“Oh,” Garret says. He didn’t know it was different for everyone. “My chest.” 

 

“Okay, good. Whenever you feel an emotion you don’t want your Other to know, push the sensation away from your chest. Pretend that there’s a different network inside your body for your emotions, just like your blood vessels. Your Bond, your chest in this case, would just be another organ.”

 

Garret frowns. “Blood vessels? But I don’t control the blood moving in my veins.”

 

“Well,” Fred smiles, “you can sort of control your heart rate consciously.” 

 

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. I’ll try it out.”

 

“See if it works. I learned that from an old teammate. Sometimes, for games specifically, focusing on a good emotion helps, too. If you focus on being calm during a game, you’ll only feel that emotion despite which side of the Bond it’s coming from. Other goalies have talked about imagining a wall across the Bond, as if the Bond is a physical thing.” 

 

Garret is about to say something back to Freddie, something about how terribly helpful everything was, when he feels a quick spark of warmth in his chest. No, not warmth— _ heat. _ It feels like something burning in his chest, like the flames of hunger so all-consuming it overtakes consciousness. Within a second, it’s gone. The whole thing surprises Garret, because it seemed like Travis had his whole Bond thing figured out.

 

He has to break away from his conversation, which had also been surprising, to gauge what was going on with Travis. It had only been five minutes, but the big group clustering around Travis has split apart. The only person Travis is interacting with is Mitch, who’s still showing Travis videos. Garret takes a look at Travis. He’s gaping and surprised, red-cheeked and wide-eyed. His facial expression isn’t exaggerated, instead looking earnest in his reaction. Travis swallows once, and smacks Mitch. Mitch is smirking wickedly. 

 

Garret clears his throat, and Travis whips his head towards him. Travis looks like he’s been caught red-handed. He coughs once and looks away from Garret immediately, pushing Mitch’s hand, the one shoving a phone in Mitch’s face, away.

 

“Yeah,” Travis says, voice deep. “I think it works. Thanks Jake.” 

 

Freddie looks at Garret with a dry smile. 

 

“Thanks for the advice, Fred. I’ll be sure to try it out,” Garret sighs. He sets his knife and fork down. 

 

Garret takes another peek at Travis. He seems normal again, drinking his glass of water. 

 

Huh. 

  
  
  
  


Two months pass quickly, seconds melting away like an ice-cube lying outside in the Chicago summer. Garret looks back at the season with a sense of trepidation. He doesn’t know why he thought being Bonded with Travis while he had a crush on him would be a good idea. 

 

Crush. Yeah, right. He laughs at himself. The whole thing with Travis is definitely far more advanced than a crush. 

 

He’s started to find himself thinking about Travis  _ a lot. _ He thinks about him when he eats breakfast, wondering if Travis had eaten breakfast, if he had eaten a healthy one. He thinks about Travis when he’s at the grocery store, a cramped space in the downtown core, about what he’d buy if Travis was with him. He thinks about Travis in the shower. He shakes  _ those _ thoughts as soon as they pop up in his mind. Even though Fred’s taught him about those magic Bond techniques, he’s seriously not going to take a chance with indecent thoughts. 

 

So he likes Travis. Whatever.

 

_ It’s love. You know it’s love. _

 

And he should probably try to stop. But he doesn’t. Instead, he hangs out with him even more. Lets Travis invade his personal space and worm himself deeper into his heart. Grows fonder and fonder each day. 

 

He ponders his sanity one day when he lets Travis lie down on his thighs in their hotel room while watching It’s Always Sunny. Travis giggles as the fight between Mac and Dennis grows heated, the vibrations from his body shaking Garret’s thighs. 

 

“This is great,” Travis smiles at the laptop. 

 

Garret resists the urge to pet Travis’s head like a puppy. “Yeah, it’s a pretty cool TV show.”

 

Travis rolls away from him and onto his back, closing his eyes with a contented sigh. He’s smiling so softly. Garret’s heart aches. 

 

“Aw,” Travis looks at Garret playfully. “I’m your best friend.”

 

Garret shakes his head with an endearing look at Travis. “Who said?”

 

“The Bond did.” Travis stares at him happily. 

 

He swears to himself in his head and raises his eyebrows. He makes sure to keep a wall up. “How’d it do that?” 

 

Travis huffs. “It just felt like that, okay? You’re my best friend.”

 

Okay, now Garret really is surprised. “Me? You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Travis scoffs, offended. “Who else?” 

 

Garret snorts. “I don’t know, like, Mango or something. Some other Marlie.” He looks down at his lap. The ending theme to It’s Always Sunny plays in the background. 

 

The sheets rustle briskly. Travis turns his body towards Garret. He’s scowling. “Dude, no. I hang with you so much.”

 

“I guess you do,” Garret forces a smile gently. “I guess  _ we _ do.”

 

Travis hesitates. “And.. that’s good, right? You enjoy what we have?”

 

Garret laughs inside his head as his heart beats faster. If only Travis knew how much he valued their relationship, and the way he wanted more,  _ so _ much more. 

 

“Derms. Dermie.  _ Trav. _ You know the whole thing was my idea. I wouldn’t want to be dragged around by anyone else.”

 

“Awesome. Now put on another episode, I need you to distract me from thinking about my mom. I just can’t  _ stop.” _

 

Garret laughs and does as he’s told. But the mention of Travis’s mom sets Garret off. And he starts thinking about his own mom. With the inaugural Leafs Moms’ Trip starting the next day, Garret is sure that the entire occurrence will be his December highlight after Christmas.

 

But thinking about it brings a sort of despondency to Garret’s mind. He’s not playing, so there’s no chance of Garret screwing up in front of his mom, but there’s other ways that Garret could ruin the entire trip. Ways that involve Travis and his feelings for him. He could let his mom meet Travis for the first time with him there acting as a buffer, but he feels like that would just result in his embarrassment. His mom could also wander off by herself and intercept Travis at a random area by  _ herself. _ Or, even worse, she could chat up Travis’s  _ mom. _

 

Garret doesn’t even want to think about what that would mean for the both of them.

 

Despite all this, Garret’s still glad that his mom is going to be there for the next few games. And Garret will be able to see her again before the summer, which would usually start off with Garret acting grim and sour his personality. It’s good. He misses his family. 

 

He’s also glad it wasn’t a Dads’ Trip. He doesn’t know what he would have to do—how much he would have to pretend—in front of his dad. But one thing is certain, the way he acts with Travis would condemn him forever in his dad’s eyes. 

 

He wonders what his mom will tell his dad after the trip.

  
  
  
  
  


 His mom truly meets Travis for the first time during dinner. It’s the first day that the moms are in Florida, the first day of the road trip. They get herded outside the restaurant after dinner. There are lights twinkling everywhere, Christmas ribbons flowing around pillars. The darkness surrounding them adds to the happy atmosphere. In Garret’s opinion, everything seems sharper and more exciting. 

 

He keeps an eye out for Travis, tracking him with his own mom. Garret smiles to himself for a quick moment, basking in the ruckus of a large group of people socializing with each other. It’s all very intimate, building their collective team spirit. His mom clutches onto his arm. 

 

“Where’s Travis?” she asks, gazing around curiously. Garret looks down at her amusedly and nods his head in Travis’s direction, where he’s sparking a conversation with Zaits and his mom. 

 

“Over there. You wanna go talk to him?”

 

“Hell yeah, I do. Take me there.” She hits on his arm slightly. Garret laughs and steers her in their direction. 

 

When he enters Travis’s view of sight, he sees Travis’s eyes widen. His lips spread into a beautiful smile, his white button-up making him pop out in the dark night. 

 

“Hey,” Travis greets Garret, still smiling up at him. 

 

“Hi,” Garret replies. He smiles at Travis, too. He feels so much love and appreciation. There’s a blossom of warmth in his chest that makes him beam bigger. From the Bond. Purposely. He wants to hold Travis’s hand, right there in front of both their parents and the entire team. 

 

“Hello to you, too, Travis,” Garret’s mom butts in, grinning at Travis. 

 

“Hi Mrs. Sparks! I’ve been dying to meet you.”

 

And off they go, dragging Garret along in their quick-paced conversation. Garret realises belatedly, as he’s standing off to the side whispering to Travis while their moms trade embarrassing stories about them, that this is what he wants his family to be. The entire situation makes Garret  _ want _ things. Things that he shouldn’t have. 

 

But when Travis looks at him with that soft smile laced with that mellow happiness, Garret would give anything just to have the moment last forever. 

 

He wants Travis to be his forever. 


	5. don't i make you cringe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You ready?” Mo asks through a forkful of yule log. 
> 
> Garret looks around, making sure no one’s listening to them. “No, but you’re gonna make me do it anyways.” 
> 
> “That’s the spirit, bud,” Mo smiles and goes back to eating his cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey garret got traded. thats homophobia, fuck that shit. im so sad. but heres another chapter :)

Garret’s mom turns on him the moment they’re alone. Her gentle, kind smile that had been directed at the Dermott family changes into an angry, irritated frown when her gaze focuses on Garret. Garret sighs soundlessly to himself, and internally prepares for a conversation that really shouldn’t happen in such a public setting. They still haven’t left the restaurant to go back to their hotel, so the whole team and their mothers could be eavesdropping if they wanted to. 

 

“Garret,” his mom starts. It’s never good when she starts a conversation with his name, not when her tone was so frustrated. 

 

“Yeah?” he answers. 

 

“What do you  _ think _ you’re doing with Travis?” Her hands shift to her hips in a smooth motion. 

 

“Nothing mom,” Garret huffs. “I don’t think I’m doing anything with him. You don’t need to worry. Nothing’s happened.” He shifts his gaze away from his mom, towards the rest of his team. They’re all laughing and having a great time. 

 

“That’s exactly why I worry,  _ nothing _ has happened. And I bet you’re not going to do anything either.” 

 

“What? Why would I do anything? What would I do?”

 

His mom shakes her head and smacks his arm. “There’s something about him that you can’t stay away from. You need him.” Those words have Garret’s heart speeding up. It’s terrifying to have his mother understand exactly what he’s feeling. He has to look away.

 

She continues, “but if you keep going like this with that boy, both of you are going to suffer. And I don’t want either of you suffering.” 

 

Garret gathers his emotions up and snorts. “I’m not doing anything so none of us suffer. Don’t be so dramatic, mom. We’re fine.”

 

“Honey, it won’t be fine if you keep this up,” she sighs. She looks tired. 

 

“Look, I can’t  _ do _ anything with Travis. Even if I like him or whatever, the entire league is still screwed up. The Bond thing just makes everything more complicated, especially since Kyle still hasn’t told the media yet. And I can’t even promise that me doing anything wouldn’t make Travis uncomfortable.” Garret looks down. 

 

His mom looks at him disapprovingly. 

 

Garret grunts in frustration. He would never pursue a relationship with Travis, especially since he was the only one harboring romantic feelings. 

 

“Think of it this way. Just because you, and maybe Marissa, would approve of something… more with Travis, it doesn’t mean everyone else will.” His voice fades into a whisper. “It doesn’t mean  _ dad _ will.” 

 

His mom’s gaze turns softer and sadder when Garret mentions his sister and his dad. It doesn’t last. Within seconds, a determined look replaces her previous demeanor. It’s a look that Garret loves seeing on his mom; she always looks invincible like that. 

“I’ll deal with your dad if I have to, you shouldn’t be worrying about him,” she says. She pauses. “You’ve always been like this, you know? It’s not okay for you to feel sad. You deserve to be happy.” Garret looks away. He feels stinging behind his nose. “But if you can’t still don’t believe that, then at least think about Travis. Think about his emotions, about how you’re messing with him, too.”

 

That statement draws a startled laugh out of Garret. “Mom, I’m a thousand percent sure that things are platonic over on his end. Nice one, though.”

 

“Damn it, Garret, that’s not the case. Why can’t you just open your eyes and  _ see?” _

 

“Even if I did that, everything would still be blurry without my glasses.” 

 

His mom sighs again and closes her eyes. She takes a moment before she responds. “You and your smartass comments. You better think about what you want with Travis soon and actually  _ do _ something about it. You need to figure out what you’re going to do before everything blows up in your face and you regret all your actions. Or, all the actions you didn’t commit to.” 

 

Garret feels a little hurt at his mother’s lack of faith in his decisions. If he doesn’t do anything about his stupid crush, then nothing will go south. If he waits long enough, the feelings will dissipate and the Bond will be dissolved. He’ll go back to existing, merely being strung along by life. And he’s fine with that. Because then, nothing explodes and goes sour. Even if it means that Garret will always have to settle for mediocre and obedience. 

 

“Don’t worry about me, mom. Everything will work out fine.”

  
  
  
  
  


Within ten days of his mom’s lecture, someone else manages to badger Garret to do something about his thing for Travis.

 

The holidays have crept up on the entire city of Toronto, obvious now with festive Christmas-themed decorations teeming the streets with all its red and green cheer. String lights are hung about everywhere, Christmas trees popping up after the decoration of roadside pines with dainty ornaments. There’s even a few giant Menorahs that are set up near larger plazas in the downtown core that haven’t been taken down yet, a sight that makes Hymie happy. 

 

Travis and Mitch have been excited with the festivities happening, both of them hyping each other at the same time. Travis tries to drag Garret to the Christmas Market at least five times, droning on about the beauty of the Distillery District during the nighttime. 

 

Garret agrees to go once, just the two of them alone, and ends up freezing to death. Chicago’s cold, sure, but it wasn’t like he was spending his free time in the winter strolling around in below zero weather. 

 

But Travis was right, everything is beautiful. Golden lights are strung above the cobblestone streets, hanging high above the pedestrians milling about. The vibrant light creates a halo against the inky darkness, bathing the entire district in an ethereal glow. There are children running about, their feet crunching the hardened snow in their haste and excitement. They almost run into Travis several times, making him cry out in amused alarm. Garret takes a look at him then, at the dimple that indents his left cheek when he smiles wide with his teeth, and thinks about seeing that smile every day for the rest of his life.

 

He looks away before his fond look can show on his face. 

 

Travis drags him to a few stalls selling street food like poutine and giant turkey legs. Garret laughs emphatically at the size of the turkey legs, some almost as big as Travis’s head. Then he shakes his head when Travis goes to line up to buy poutine, something that is definitely not in their meal plan. 

 

“Don’t you want to go to the ferris wheel? The place where Willy tormented Hyms?” Garret asks instead, trying to nudge Travis away from eating unhealthy food. 

 

Travis pouts, not unlike Mitch, and glares. “But it’s poutine, Sparky.” 

 

“You can eat poutine in the summer,” Garret decides and turns in the direction of the ferris wheel.

 

Travis huffs and follows along, complaining along the way. But his complaints are insincere, getting lost in the melody of Christmas carols that drift along in the background. 

 

They make it on the ferris wheel with twin smiles on their faces. Garret reminds Travis not to rock the car they’re in, and Travis listens. He doesn’t think Travis would want to plummet to the ground after an “accidental” tip-over of the ferris wheel car.

 

It’s fun, watching Travis try to point out all the landmarks that protrude from the darkness of the city when they get to the top of the ferris wheel. It’s nice, listening to Travis’s excited tone as he talks. It’s rewarding when Garret makes Travis laugh so wildly that he starts contorting his face weirdly. 

 

It’s heartbreaking, drinking cold hot chocolate from the Christmas Market alone in his apartment. Garret looks at the nondescript to-go cup from the fancy cafe they went to after riding the ferris wheel, thinking that it would probably taste better if Travis was there. 

 

He sits on his couch for a while and stares at the ironic “no hockey playing allowed” sign on his wall that’s tacked right above a hockey net. Then he moves on to the weird abstract paintings he started when he was trying to paint his feelings away. He thinks a little about how whipped he is for Travis, and determinedly puts his foot down. He’s going to stop indulging in his feelings for Travis. He’s going to fix everything.

 

His phone chimes and breaks him out of his reverie. 

 

_ Mo, WED 11:02PM _

_ U tell him yet _

 

Garret sighs. He didn’t want to deal with this shit right now.  _ Tell who,  _ he replies and drags a hand over his face. 

 

_ Mo, FRI 11:03PM _

_ Derms, duh _

_ don’t u dare act oblivious _

 

_ I don’t know what you’re talking about,  _ he texts back and slams his phone down on his couch cushion angrily.

 

Mo answers with a phone call. Garret stares at his phone for a while, letting it ring, and ponders whether or not he should pick it up. In the end, he picks up, just when he thinks the call’s going to time out.

 

“Hello?” he mumbles, as if he didn’t read the caller ID.

 

_ “Sparky. What are you doing?” _ is the response. Mo sounds incredulous.

 

“Mo,” he sighs. He sets his hot chocolate on the ground and hopes he doesn’t knock it over with his foot. “Literally nothing.”

 

Morgan groans loudly.  _ “Weren’t you with Derms? At the Christmas Market?” _

 

Okay, Garret didn’t know that Mo knew he had been with Travis. “Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

 

_ “How I know doesn’t matter, what matters is why you’re not with Travis right now.” _

 

Garret’s stumped. He lets himself slip down his couch. “What do you mean? Why would I be with him? It’s eleven at night.”

 

_ “Goddammit, I thought you would’ve taken the time to tell him you were into him.” _

 

Garret blanches. “Jesus fuck, Mo. Who said I was into him? I’m straight.”

 

A pointed silence follows his words. Garret can feel Morgan glare at him disappointedly through the phone. 

 

“Okay,” he admits, “most of that was a lie.”

 

There’s more silence.

 

“Fine! All of that was a lie.”

 

_ “That’s right,” _ Mo huffs.  _ “But still, why didn’t you fucking say anything?” _

 

“Why would I say anything? I don’t want the team to know. I don’t want Travis to know either. The whole thing’s stupid.” Garret slumps more into his couch.

 

_ “It’s not stupid, oh my god. Why are you two so blind? And don’t say it’s because you both wear glasses.” _

 

Garret wants to shrug, but that wouldn’t help over the phone, so he just stays silent. 

 

_ “You know what,” _ Mo starts,  _ “you need to make a move at the Christmas party.” _

 

Garret snorts. “Christmas party. Hyms won’t be happy about that title.”

 

_ “Shut up,” _ Mo says.  _ “You need a plan of action. Now.” _

 

“Yeah,” Garret scoffs, “I have one—not doing anything.”

 

Morgan groans in frustration.  _ “Why won’t you do anything about the thing you have for Derms? You’re making it bad for both of you.” _

 

Garret sighs. “Look, we both know I’m not good enough for him. He doesn’t swing that way. There’s a million people he could do better with. This hockey thing won’t work if we have anything but a platonic relationship. Those are just a few reasons why I won’t do anything.”

 

_ “I get that there are a lot of reasons why the idea of pursuing something with Travis would result in catastrophe, but trust me, it won’t. I’ve been there. I feel obligated to say that you’re both idiots. I swear to god, if you don’t do anything at the Christmas—holiday, what the fuck ever—thing, I will literally make your life so miserable by sicking Mitch on you.” _

 

And that is a  _ terrible _ thought. Garret would never be able to handle Mitch’s energy on his own. 

 

“Okay, okay,” he sighs, “I get it. No making a move equals Mitch’s terror. Now let me go to bed before I miss the game tomorrow.”

 

Mo hangs up with another warning in his ear, something about Bonds and relationships and Garret being happy. Garret’s not too sure what he actually said, he was too busy cleaning up the syrupy mess of bottom-of-the-cup hot chocolate dredge that he spilled on his floor. 

 

But after that conversation, there are two things that Garret’s stuck thinking about. 

 

The first is Mo’s off-handed mention of having been in the same situation Garret finds himself in, and doesn’t that intrigue him. 

 

The second is whether or not he’ll actually go through with doing something at the party. Having Mitch hound him outweighs Travis hating him… or, worse, Travis being disgusted with him. 

  
  
  
  
  


After three days filled with standard wins, Garret finds himself sitting at Mo’s dinner table for the Christmas-Holiday-Whatever celebration party. Well, he’s sitting at  _ one _ of Mo’s tables. Due to the sheer number of people that have been crammed into Morgan’s condo, an extra table had to be brought in. This led to the creation of the Adult table and Kids’ table. 

 

Being seated at the Adult table meant that he could rub it in all the Kids’ faces. It was all the more entertaining because the Kids’ table consisted of temperamental characters like Willy, Mitch, and Kappy. But it also meant sitting away from Travis, sandwiched between Mo and Freddie. 

 

If the party was held anywhere besides Mo’s place, Garret would’ve been able to escape sitting with Mo, because Mo, judging by age, is  _ supposed _ to be sitting at the Kids’ table. But fine, it’s Mo’s place, so he calls the shots. 

 

And honestly, it’s not that bad at the start of dinner. They’ve decided to forego all that diet plan bullshit, pulling out all the stops on food. So even if the evening goes south, Garret at least gets a good meal out of it. The conversations aren’t bad either. Gards and Mo spend lots of time ribbing each other and bickering across the table. JT tosses out quality comments occasionally that are almost bordering on insulting, Naz is teasing Hyms about something trivial, and Garret feels happy. At home. They’re missing some of the older guys because of their familial duty, but the atmosphere’s still there. 

 

The Kids’ table is loud, too, brash laughter ringing from that side of the room steadily. Garret catches Travis’s laugh several times and tries not to feel a gross mixture of want and anxiousness. 

 

Mo catches him stare at Travis several times during dinner and makes sure to give him pointed looks that screamed of heavy warning—there would be severe consequences if Garret didn’t pull through tonight. Garret’s still lost on what he’s going to do; he hasn’t even thought up a plan yet. 

 

“You ready?” Mo asks through a forkful of yule log. 

 

Garret looks around, making sure no one’s listening to them. “No, but you’re gonna make me do it anyways.” 

 

“That’s the spirit, bud,” Mo smiles and goes back to eating his cake. 

 

Garret looks down at his plate with his half eaten slice of cake. He pushes the frosting around with his fork, suddenly feeling nauseous. The considerable desire he had of eating the cake moments ago has dissipated; everything is too sickly sweet. Instead of excitement and contentment, he only feels the harsh grip of dread in his stomach. He scrapes his fork against the plate a few times, trying to hear the screech of metal on porcelain over the background noise of cheerful conversation. It takes ten tries before the sound jars him enough for the dread dissolve. And even then, it’s not fully gone. If Garret focuses just a little too hard, the feeling will grapple him and hold him hostage. 

 

After dinner, when all the entertainment is being set up, Garret wanders away to the bathroom. He takes a moment to piss before splashing a bunch of water on his face. It feels hot in the apartment, and he knows it’s not because he’s wearing the Christmas sweater that his sister had gifted him. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. He decided not to wear glasses to the party, going with his contacts instead. Water drips down his hair and onto his face. He wipes it with a scratchy sleeve and leaves. 

 

He’s decided—he’s not doing it. 

 

As soon as he exits the bathroom, he’s attacked by Mo. Mitch flanks his side. Goddammit, why couldn’t Mo drink more wine this time? He would’ve been wine-drunk and half-asleep by now. 

 

“You’re going through with it, right?” Mo whispers, huddling up beside Garret. Mitch follows closely. 

 

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Garret scowls. 

 

“Come on, man, I thought Mo got you to agree already,” Mitch pouts. 

 

Garret frowns. “I did, unwillingly.” 

 

Mo sighs and pinches his forehead. “You just have to tell Derms you’re into him. That’s it.” 

 

“Very simple,” Mitch echoes with an earnest look. 

 

They stare at him intensely, as if their gazes could physically force Garret into word vomit out his feelings towards Travis. The anxiousness returns, but quickly morphs into something more akin to anger. 

 

“I know  _ that,” _ Garret glowers. “I just don’t know how to do it.”

 

Mo claps him on the back. “Don’t worry about how. All that matters is that you actually go through with it. You can literally just blurt out ‘I like you’. Now go get your man.” Mo pushes him away from the dark hallway leading to the bathroom. Garret looks back, Mitch nodding sagely in the background with his arms crossed. 

 

As Garret ambles back to Mo’s living room where most of the action is happening, his outlook on the party grows darker by the second. He really doesn’t want to talk about anything anymore after all the prodding he’s received from everyone. He’s frustrated. It’s like no one believes his opinions are true, that Travis really doesn’t like him. 

 

If it wasn’t for his previous inclination to talk to Travis, he would’ve abandoned Mo and Mitch’s directions completely and fucked around with some of the past Marlies. There seems to be a great game of Chel happening with Kap and Willy at the moment. But instead of trailing there to cheer on Kap, he heads over to the “open bar” where Travis is talking with Brownie and Freddie. 

 

“Hey,” Garret smiles at Travis, trying to kick the anger away. He nods at Brownie and Freddie. 

 

“Sparky,” Travis hollers, and throws an arm around Garret’s shoulders with a wide grin. “Haven’t seen you yet. Where’ve you been hiding?” 

 

Garret grins wider indulgently, happy to let Travis’s enthusiasm wash over him. He seems a little buzzed, but that gives Garret all the more reason to not say shit. 

 

“Been dragged around a bit by Mo, but it’s all good now.” In the background, Freddie strolls away with a gentle smirk, tugging Brownie with him by his hoodie. 

 

“Yeah?” Travis looks up at him through his lashes with his tongue pushing at the corner of his lips, a mischievous smirk on his face. Garret wants to die. “Then, I guess you’ll come destroy Naz at karaoke with me.” Then he beams again. 

 

Garret snorts at how ridiculous the suggestion is. “Ha, I guess I will. Any day is a good day to beat Naz at his own game.”

 

“Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Travis grins and sets off towards Naz. 

 

As they move across the busy room, Garret sees Mitch in the corner of his eye barreling towards them. He deliberately bumps into Garret, causing him to veer into Travis. They stumble a little, stopping right under a doorway. Garret tries to find Mitch, so he can glare at him, but he’s slipped away already. 

 

“Shit, sorry,” he says. “Mitch bumped into me.” 

 

Travis rests a hand on his arm, steadying Garret, “it’s all good. Mitch is a clumsy fucker.”

 

Garret shakes his head softly and laughs. “He is, but not as much as you.”

 

Travis scowls at that. He opens his mouth to say something, but he gets interrupted. 

 

“Oh, would you look at that! Is that—? I think it is! Derms and Sparky are the first ones to be standing under the mistletoe!” Mo shouts, a wicked grin on his face. 

 

They look up and, yup, there it is: a sprig of a fucking plant that will be the cause of Garret’s aneurysms. 

 

Garret glances quickly at Travis, taking in his shocked and frozen expression. He looks scared. Garret scoffs in his mind, of course he’d be scared. Why wouldn’t he be? He was going to be forced to kiss Garret. 

 

“Woo! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Mitch chants, appearing beside Mo. That sets everyone else off, following Mitch in yelling that terrible word. It seems that a lot of people have even brought their phones out, notably Naz and Kappy, ready to catch a potentially scandalous event on tape. 

 

And goddammit, Garret feels terrible. If he’d been closer to how he felt normally, his usual nonchalance, he would laugh it off and entertain in a big, fake kiss on Travis’s cheek. But now, with how close he was to his breaking point, he wants to shout and make a scene. He wants to scream at Mo and Mitch and tell them how stupid their plan is. He wants to throw that shitty sprig of plant in their faces.

 

The chanting grows louder, and the goading becomes more infuriating. Garret’s hands clench into fists. Then, suddenly and without warning, Travis turns his face with two hands on his jaw and smacks one right on the corner of his lips—most of the faux-kiss making contact with his cheek. 

 

Garret’s shocked. 

 

He can’t hear the boisterous cheering over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He ducks away from the doorway angrily, away and away from Travis, when he gains control of his limbs, gritting his teeth. He manages to clamber away into a dark corner, all alone, with no one else noticing. 

 

He smacks a hand across his forehead and groans out loud. He’s so pissed at how the night played out, at the annoying insistence of two of his teammates. He could only think about how disgusted Travis feels after being forced to  _ kiss _ him. 

 

And the worst part is, he can’t stop thinking about the kiss. Despite the innocence of the entire act, he can’t help but make it a thousand times more intimate in his head. He thinks about what it would be like to kiss a willing Travis—intense, satisfying, unobtainable. He thinks about wrapping a hand around the back of Travis’s neck, about holding him in place while he takes his time exploring his mouth. 

 

And that’s what makes him angry the most—everything has gone to shit now, proving how idiotic he was in thinking Bonding with Travis would be a good thing. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Travis’s voice, unsure and quiet, breaks him out of his thoughts. He’s somehow sought Garret out in his terrible hiding spot.

 

Garret’s still mad, and he can’t keep it out of his tone. “Nothing, I’m good.”

 

Travis frowns. “I really don’t believe that. You’re broadcasting. Over the Bond.”

 

“I’m fine,” Garret insists, scowling more. 

 

“Sparky, come on,” Travis says. “We’re Bonded. You have to tell me shit, okay? Was it that fucking kiss? It’s okay if you were uncomfortable, I just didn’t want the team to chirp us if we  _ didn’t _ do it. I’m sorry.”

 

Garret clenches his fists again. “No, it’s not that.”

 

“What is it then? We need to be open with each other, right?”

 

And god, Garret can’t take it anymore. He growls. “You want the truth? You want me to tell you everything?”

 

Travis looks at him pleadingly. “Yes, that’s what I want. Tell me.”

 

Garret smiles at him darkly. “Okay, then, you asked for it. I think this entire Bond thing has been shit.”

 

Travis’s eyes widen, expression changing instantly. He blinks a few times, utterly shocked, even aghast. 

 

Garret continues. “I think we were wrong to try to Bond. It’s brought nothing but difficulties for both of us and we’ve gained absolutely nothing. It’ll probably only be this year that we get to keep it, since Dubie hasn’t even announced it to the public yet, and you know what? That’s good. Because I might get traded anyways and we’ll both benefit from losing this Bond.”

 

A couple of emotions drift across Travis’s face. At first, it’s hurt. That changes to disbelief and then anger. The anguished fire in Travis’s eyes digs inside Garret’s chest like a knife. 

 

“Is that how you really feel?” Travis whispers. 

 

Garret glances away. After a moment, he nods. 

 

“I’m glad that you finally fucking told me after four months then. I thought this was what you wanted, that maybe having a Bond with one of your best friends would be the coolest thing ever. But, I guess not,” Travis hisses vehemently. 

 

_ Best friend,  _ Garret thinks,  _ that’s right, he’s your best friend. Only your best friend. _

 

“I guess I’ll just go tell Dubie that we’re going to break this bond. I guess this was all for shit! I guess all the challenges we overcame, all the  _ effort _ we spent meant nothing to you,” Travis spits. 

 

Garret hears a sniffle. It breaks his heart to lie. But he has to do it. He can’t deny or reply directly to Travis’s words. He ends the conversation instead with, “you don’t know how much I regret this whole thing.” 

 

He risks a look at Travis’s face, and it’s stuck on enraged agony. He thinks he sees a few tears in Travis’s eyes, but that could just be from an errant reflected light or his lack of sight after one of his contacts fell out. The whole thing squeezes Garret’s heart so terribly, he wants to puke. 

 

In the end, he’s left standing alone in a dark corner, knuckles white and hurting. Travis doesn’t look at him once as he storms away, no doubt finding someone else to talk to for emotional support. 

  
  
  
  
  


After Garret has spewed out all the untruthful bullshit at Travis, he quickly runs away from Mo’s condo and spends the rest of his night hiding in his apartment, alone. He managed to avoid Mo and Mitch, but that was probably due to their attentiveness towards Travis. He doesn’t know if that was actually the case, but he guesses those are the two people who Travis would go to first. He’ll probably be safe from their wrath for twelve hours.

 

Overall, he feels like shit. He feels like an utter asshole. But everything’s already been said, and he can’t take anything back. 

 

He just sits there on his cold, wooden floor, clutching a glass of pomegranate juice as he stares expressionless at a blank canvas. He wishes he could swish around something with an alcohol percentage that would make him drop dead, but he’s not too tempted to wake up tomorrow puking his guts out before a game. 

 

It’s kind of funny that he’s drinking pomegranate juice. The only reason he has it in his fridge is because Travis likes it. Travis made him buy it. 

 

It’s always about Travis. His mind never shuts up about him. 

 

Garret wishes he could feel the Bond. Instead, he just feels hollow. There’s nothing sparking up his chest. No warmth from the ambient excitement that always seems to be lingering around in Travis’s emotions. 

 

He wishes he could be with Travis instead, wishes he could make him happy instead of hurting him. 

 

But that isn’t the case. Garret doesn’t even think he has a relationship with Travis at all anymore. And isn’t that wonderful?


	6. best left unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You okay, Garret?” the goalie coach asks him, skating right next to him again. 
> 
> “Yeah,” he mumbles as he fumbles to take his mask off, “just gotta get some water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this is fiction! therefore i have no idea what garret's family is like in real life. everything's made up :)

When Garret wakes up the next day, somehow still in his itchy Christmas sweater and sprawled across his couch, the whole fight with Travis feels like a terrible dream. He laughs at himself for thinking it was real, because how would he have the guts to yell at Travis, much less lie to him? 

 

But then he checks his phone, and there are over fifty text message notifications that pop up. He scrolls through them on his lockscreen for a brief moment and winces. Most of them are from Mo and Mitch, mainly in all caps. 

 

Okay, so it hadn’t been a bad dream. 

 

Garret sighs in frustration as all the memories from yesterday night come rushing back in detail. He should’ve known it hadn’t been a dream once he saw the shitty Christmas sweater. 

 

He takes a little moment to settle down a little after waking up from a dream that he can’t remember. He takes a few breaths and drinks the rest of the water in the half-empty mug on the coffee table. 

 

Now that he’s a little more clear-headed, Travis’s expression from yesterday hits him a lot harder in the chest. His eyes had been wide with hurt, eyebrows furrowed with anger, and frown intensified with doubt. His face was sallow and marred by sadness, his complexion declining vastly from what it had been at the start of the evening. And to think, Garret had been the one to deliver the blow that caused Travis such drastic pain. But at least now he knows for sure that Travis hates him wholeheartedly—disgusted with his true nature. 

 

It hurts, because why wouldn’t it? Garret’s pushed away the only person he wanted to have closer than physically possible. It seemed that they were made for each other—their uncannily similar beliefs, compatible interests, mutual understanding, and ease of communication. But Garret’s skeptical of fate, of the belief that “all things happen for a reason”, that there’s always going to be “the one”—so of course things would fall apart. 

 

They would have fallen apart even without his stupid outburst. 

 

And suddenly, Garret is really glad that they both learned to control the Bond. Who knows how Travis would act if he felt the pulsing irritation and despair in Garret’s chest?

 

Garret spends another minute resting on his couch. He still feels groggy and half-alive. He rubs at his eyes blearily, wondering why they hurt so bad. His fingertips catch at his contacts. That’s right—he’d forgotten to take them out last night, so they’d been in there while he slept. He scrapes the pieces of plastic out of his eyes roughly. The action irritates his eyes even more, but it’s okay. He kind of wants to feel physical pain. 

 

Immediately, his apartment takes on a fuzzy edge. The paintings in his living room seem to look better, the edges of different colours blending together seamlessly. One of them resembles a blob of muddy brown. Garret snorts sarcastically at the image, and fumbles to his bedroom for his glasses. He slips them on while he stretches his back and legs out.

 

As soon as he can see better, he heads over to his couch again, where he last left his phone. He checks the time, six-something in the morning, and sets off to reply to the hoards of messages on his phone. He hates that he woke up before his alarm. He hates that he has to deal with a bunch of disparaging texts that just induces more anxiety. 

 

There are a few messages from some former Marlies that he doesn’t bother responding with much more than a “haha”. They’re pretty similar, all of them professing some type of amusement at the mistletoe incident (the videos and pictures they send prompts a bitter taste in Garret’s mouth) and unhappiness at his early departure. 

 

Then Garret moves onto the tougher, more energy-sapping individuals: Mitch, Mo, and even Freddie. Mo only sends a message saying  _ we need to talk, _ which scares Garret more than it should. He doesn’t respond to it and leaves it on read. He opens up the slew of text messages from Mitch next. He doesn’t read them word for word, because there are way too many. They’re mainly apologies for forcing Garret’s hand and little updates on how Travis is. Garret texts back a  _ it’s not your fault, don’t apologise _ and another reluctant  _ is Travis okay. _ He knows Travis isn’t okay emotionally, but he just wants to make sure he got home okay, that he ended up getting enough sleep. 

 

He finally takes the courage to see what Freddie has to say. Garret doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s pleasantly surprised. 

 

_ I’m here to help. _

 

_ That’s nice, _ Garret thinks,  _ I have someone willing to help. _

 

When his text messages are mostly taken care of, he slips back into his bedroom to sleep more. It’s six in the morning, and practice isn’t until nine. Maybe he could get away with an extra hour or so of downtime before he has to… see Travis again.  

  
  
  


Garret doesn’t manage to fall back asleep. He’s tired, yes, but there are a bunch of thoughts assaulting his mind that causes him to be panicked. So, he just lies there on his bed, eyes open as his playlist of sad songs shuffle on in the background. When he gets up, he has to put in a new pair of contacts. His eyes hurt so bad; he’s tempted to not wear contacts for the day and fumble all of his shots.

 

Since he left so early, Garret arrives at practice early. Maybe he should’ve tried to get there later, when most of the guys would already be on the ice, so he might’ve had the chance to avoid Travis. Well, he guesses he could just go on the ice early himself to avoid Travis.

 

And he does, because he thinks it’s an awesome idea, and subjects himself to a boring ten minutes alone.

 

In the end, Travis gets to the rink really, really late, so Garret had rushed his pre-practice routine for nothing. But as practice started and Travis still hadn’t arrived, the Bond scarily devoid of any activity, he’d been scared that Travis got into some sort of trouble. And in his mind at the time, he  _ knew _ Travis got home okay yesterday after Mitch’s sporadic Travis updates.. He knew that there was nothing to worry about, because Travis is responsible-ish and knows how to take care of himself and is a  _ grown man,  _ but Garret couldn’t help but be paranoid. 

 

So, Garret shouldn’t be blamed when he accidentally lets a smile beam across his face when he hears the sound of a different pair of skates gliding across the fresh sheet of ice. He instinctively looks in Travis’s direction, ready to say hi, but he backs off when he sees the determined, steely gaze on Travis’s face. It’s routine for both of them to tap their sticks together at the start of practice, but Garret guesses they’re creating a brand new routine where they won’t interact with each other at all unless necessary. It’s better for Garret not to do anything anyways, especially since Mo is glaring daggers at him. 

 

By the end of practice, Garret’s head still intact. Despite being unharmed, his whole performance had been lacklustre. Mediocre.  _ Boring. _ He can’t help but be boring, not when his mind wanders off every two seconds. But maybe boring is good, because boring means a decent showing. It means he’s not fucking up tremendously. 

 

He still hasn’t talked to Travis yet, hasn’t really been near him. It’s probably because Travis is avoiding him, and doing so very obviously. And, okay, yeah, Garret deserves the whole silent treatment. 

 

As he strips out of his pads, he habitually glances in Travis’s direction. He catches an eyeful of tight compression clothing stretched around bulging muscles. Garret sighs frustratedly and shakes his sweaty hair out. He’s ogling Travis again. 

 

When he gets out of the shower, Morgan is quick to drag him away into the room where the cold tub is. No one is in there that late after practice. 

 

“Hey, come on,” Garret protests lightly as Mo marches decisively away from the rest of his teammates. “I can walk by myself at least.”

 

“I don’t trust you to follow,” Mo scoffs out lightly and finally lets go of his shirt. He slams the door closed. Garret flinches. 

 

“That’s reassuring.” Garret waits a moment. “We’re alone now, I guess. What did you want to say?”

 

Mo growls, his face uncharacteristically angry. “When I told you to do something at the Christmas party, I didn’t mean driving Derms away so he wouldn’t ever talk to you again.”

 

Ouch. That hurt. “I  _ told _ you before that I couldn’t do it. And I was right. Look at how it turned out.”

 

“If you guys would just  _ listen _ and do things  _ properly, _ none of this would have happened,” Mo grits as he massages his temples. “Like, even though I’m younger than you, I understand this shit easier than you. I’m just trying to help both of you.” 

 

“Look, man, there’s nothing to understand. It’ll never happen. I’ll just write this year off as an example of what not to do ever again.”

 

“Agh!” Mo says. “It doesn’t have to be like this, though! We’ve been trying to tell you guys for so many months now. You like Travis, and Travis likes you. What’s so scary about that?”

 

“Oh, Mo,” Garret sighs. 

 

“And don’t you dare start on the ‘he doesn’t like me’ bullshit! Because it’s not true! But now, Dermie’s sad as fuck, and he won’t talk to you.”

 

Garret looks down. “Is he really not going to talk to me ever again?”

 

Mo looks at him sadly. “That’s what he said.”

 

“See?” Garret clenches his fists. “It was gonna end like this anyways. Whatever, it’s fine. I just hope I didn’t fuck up hockey for both of us.”

 

“I hope you didn’t break both of your hearts,” Mo retorts back coldly. 

 

Garret smiles bitterly.  _ Too late, _ he thinks. 

  
  
  
  
  


The next day, it’s Garret’s turn to start on the ice. The game yesterday had gone decently, resulting in a 5-3 win against the Rangers. Garret didn’t play, making it tougher for him not to be worried for Travis. Travis hadn’t seen much ice time yesterday and, even then, his plus-minus had been a minus one. The whole thing doesn’t seem great, but Garret doesn’t know how Travis truly played. He’d been too busy trying to chart face-offs. Maybe he should’ve tried to send encouragement across the Bond, but that could have gone either way, and he was too much of a coward to even touch the Bond. 

 

He doesn’t really know what he’s going to do at tonight’s game. Sure, he’s going to try his hardest to stop the fucking puck, but who knows how he’ll actually fare. Garret already knows that there won’t be a routine waiting for him anymore, no support at the ready. 

 

And just like he predicted, his pre-game routine is completely thrown off. Usually, before a game that both he and Travis are playing in, they would get lunch after practice at a healthy hipster restaurant that Travis found a few months ago. They would order the same thing each time, a grilled chicken sandwich for Garret and some fish tacos for Travis, that they shared on occasion. Travis would whine for some sort of soda, and Garret would shut him down. 

 

It was routine. Something that calmed Garret down before each game and let him relax a little. 

 

But on that day, Garret couldn’t even force eye-contact with Travis, let alone ask him whose car they should take to go eat lunch. 

 

Mo and Mitch don’t help him either, even though they had been the ones to push for them to get together. Mo tells him to stay away from Travis, to let him settle and recover a bit. Mitch tells him to listen to Mo. Garret’s left isolated from all three of them since it seems like Mo and Mitch are more invested in Travis at the moment. 

 

He shakes his head and taps his pads with his stick, getting ready for the game to start. Before he knows it, three periods are over and they’re tied 4-4 with the Wings. Garret skates over to the bench with his water bottle during their break before OT, and stays quiet. 

 

He doesn’t know who he can talk to. Since Travis is out of the question, he shuffles over to Freddie, who still has that clipboard in his hands. 

 

“Hey,” Garret smiles awkwardly, setting his mask and water bottle on the boards.

 

Fred gives him one of his usual calm and gentle smiles. He says, “good job out there. There are probably some goals you’d like to get back, but just focus on saving the next few. You got this, Sparky.” 

 

“Thanks, Fred,” Garret sighs and holds his fist out. Fred indulges him and bumps his own against his. “You don’t know how much that helps.” 

 

Freddie pulls his cap down on his head lower in lieu of a mock-salute. Garret chuckles a little and smacks his stick against the board a couple of times.

 

Garret’s in his net right before the ref blows the whistle, head down and thoughts running. The Bond is right there in his chest, practically throbbing. He wants to touch it, just a little nudge. But then he turns his head towards the bench, where Mitch and Travis are laughing about something together, and he decides against it. 

 

OT starts before he thinks about it again. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Garret!” his sister screams over Skype. “God, I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve missed your stupid face.” 

 

 It’s only been a few months since Garret has last seen her, but somehow she’s even prettier than he remembers. She’s wearing the white sweater that Garret bought her for her birthday and an excited smile on her face. She sits in the office of their childhood home, nostalgia hitting Garret square in the chest.

 

Garret laughs and clutches his thigh tightly. “Same here, MarMar.”

 

She scoffs at the nickname. “Garret, come on. You know I don’t like that nickname.”

 

“You know I have a bad memory,” he says teasingly. 

 

“Don’t make me call you Sparkles!” she growls, no longer smiling. 

 

“Is that Garret?” his mom’s voice drifts in from the background, out of frame. 

 

“Yeah, it’s me mom!” he shouts as his sister yells the same thing. 

 

His mom wanders into the room, dressed all fancy. Garret can’t help but smile at the gentleness she exudes. 

 

“Garret!” she exclaims with her own smile. She waves at Marissa. “Marissa, go help your dad with the turkey. Let me speak with your brother alone for a bit.” 

 

His sister pouts, “I just got here, though.” 

 

“Listen to mom,  _ Marissa,” _ Garret smiles. She scowls and stands up with a displeased noise. Slowly, she retreats out of the office and towards the kitchen. 

 

Garret’s alone with his mom. She looks at him with a tenderness that strikes up a tremendous sense of yearning within him. He wishes he was right there in Elmhurst beside her celebrating Christmas instead of stuck in his lonely apartment. 

 

“How are you, Garret?” his mom smiles, so soft it hurts. 

 

Slowly, he exhales, the tension in his muscles melting away. “Honest?”

 

“Yes,” she sighs. “Tell me honestly.”

 

Garret scrubs his face roughly, accidentally knocking his glasses off. “Bad, I guess.”

 

His mom frowns. “Why? Because of the game a few days ago? But you guys won that one; I was watching.”

 

They did win that one, even though it was through OT. 

 

“We did,” Garret says, eyes focused his on his desktop’s keyboard. 

 

“And Travis had an assist on the overtime goal, right?” his mom smiles eagerly. She loves him so much already, it makes Garret sad. 

 

“He did,” Garret nods. Travis assisted on the game winning goal, and Garret didn’t even get to congratulate him. 

 

“So what’s wrong? I know you want to play better, but there’s always next game.” 

 

He looks away from the screen. “I screwed up, mom. I screwed up with Travis.”

 

“What happened?” She looks confused and worried. 

 

Garret shuts up for a second. “It doesn’t matter, but we’re not talking anymore.”

 

She sighs, “what did you do?” 

 

“It’s hard to expla—”

 

He’s interrupted by his dad rushing into the office, almost banging the door heavily against the wall. Garret twitches slightly out of habit. 

 

“Well, well, well,” he booms out with a smile, “if it isn’t Garret, the NHL star.” He pulls out a chair to sit beside his mom. His tone is sarcastic.

 

“Hi dad,” Garret smiles awkwardly. 

 

“Mike,” his mom scolds, clutching her chest. 

 

He ignores her and talks over her. “How’s it going in the big league, huh? You got a win last game, but what’s with your save percentage? You made it to the NHL, you should be trying to stay there.” 

 

Garret coughs. “Yeah, I should be.” 

 

His mom frowns at his dad. He doesn’t notice it and continues. “We paid so much money for you to get there, you can’t throw it all away. Don’t you remember? Your mother drove you to all those early as shit practices, so you gotta pay her back somehow.”

 

Garret swallows thickly and avoids eye contact. “I know. I will.”

 

“‘I know, I will, I’m going to do it,’” his dad mocks with a displeased look. “You’ve been saying that for almost a fucking decade, when are we going to see anything happen?”

 

“That’s enough, Mike,” his mom spits out as Garret shrinks in on himself. “Go check on the turkey.”

 

His dad sneers at him. “You know why you’re not home for Christmas this year?”

 

Garret shakes his head mutely. His mom looks on in anger.

 

“Because you don’t deserve it. Come back when you’ve made something of yourself,” his dad hisses. He gets up from his chair with a clang, almost making Garret flinch again. He stomps out of the room. Garret lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

 

“Garret,” his mom starts sadly, “you know all he said was bullshit, right?” 

 

He nods.

 

She sighs. “We’re so proud of you already. We’re just happy that you get to do something you like for the rest of your life.”

 

Garret nods again and stays silent. They end the Skype call before Marissa comes back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Christmas passes without fanfare. Garret spends most of the holiday break holed up in his apartment, alone and cold. Despite the discouraging call home, he still wishes he was back in Chicago. He still misses his mom and sister, despite everything else. 

 

Travis doesn’t talk to him at all, not even a snapchat of Christmas activities at the Dermott household. Garret’s too afraid to talk to him first, so he doesn’t send anything either. The Bond stays silent, feeling limp and broken in Garret’s chest. 

 

It really isn’t a good break for Garret, maybe one of the worst ones yet. 

 

The same could be said about the first game he plays when he comes back, only a week after the last game he played. The only reason he plays is because Fred is out with a groin injury.

 

Garret wants to blame his shitty game on his emotions, but that doesn’t help, because he’s the one who’s responsible for his emotions. He knows it’s his fault that they got shut out against the Islanders at their home rink. He’s the one who let in four goals while Lehner on the other end hadn’t let in any. It sucks even more knowing that this was a golden opportunity, and he completely fucked it up.

 

The only saving grace of the game is Travis playing more minutes. That’s it. 

  
  


In the locker room, Freddie doesn’t say anything to him. He just pats him on the back again. JT doesn’t say anything either, nothing about wanting to crush his former team. 

 

Garret hangs his head and pretends he’s not hearing his dad’s voice in his head. 

  
  
  
  
  


During the next few practices, Garret pushes himself harder. His limbs ache, his leg muscles burning as he blocks shots and slides from post to post, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He’ll do whatever he can to save as many goals as possible. 

 

So, when that first shot from Willy hits Garret in the temple, he doesn’t really try to dodge it. He’s a little disoriented, sure, but at least the puck stays out of the net. Afterwards, he sprawls down on the ice like a frog and breathes slowly. He feels a little bit dizzy, but his helmet should’ve taken the brunt of the force. Someone skates by and taps Garret on his glove with a stick, but Garret isn’t paying attention. He’s in the net again after a quick word with the goalie coach. 

 

Garret guesses his luck is shit, because he gets hit by Willy again in the same fucking spot. He wasn’t really worried after the first shot, but now everything is actually spinning. 

 

“You okay, Garret?” the goalie coach asks him, skating right next to him again. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he fumbles to take his mask off, “just gotta get some water.”

 

Garret doesn’t really remember what he did after that. He finished practice, he knows that, but he can’t pick out specific drills or events. He thinks Mo checked up on him after practice, but he can’t be a hundred percent certain. 

 

By the time he gets home, he isn’t sure how he  _ actually _ got home. He knows that he drove home, because he has keys in his hands and his winter jacket on, but he can’t remember driving. He doesn’t worry about it too much, and tries to toss his keys on his counter. They land on the ground a few feet away. Garret waves it off and takes off his jacket, glad to be inside a building with heating and away from the harsh, biting cold outside. 

 

Garret stumbles around his apartment for a while, thinking about what he’s going to do next. He’s hungry—he doesn’t think he’s had lunch—but also tired. It’s like there’s a heavy blanket muddling his consciousness, every thought he has feels like it’s repressed. He can’t think clearly, only feeling the fog of fatigue clouding his mind. 

 

It’s barely noon, but if he’s that tired, he’s going to take a fucking nap. Garret walks to his bedroom languidly, dragging his feet behind him. He doesn’t think he makes it to his bed before he collapses. He remembers feeling the cold hardwood against his cheek and blinking a few times. And then the darkness takes over. 

  
  
  


Garret wakes up to a pounding clamour just outside of his apartment. He groans and pushes himself into a sitting position gingerly. He’s disoriented and startled from the abrupt rousing. He realises he’s still on the ground. 

 

“What time is it?” he mutters to himself, patting his pockets for his phone. He looks around and finds it on the floor just inches from where he’s lying. When it lights up, the screen floods with a long list of notifications, most of them from…  _ Travis. _

 

Travis. Travis! 

 

There are text messages and snapchats and instagram messages and missed calls. All from him. 

 

Garret’s heart beats faster. It could be a good thing… or a terrible thing. He winces as a sudden flash of pain stabs through his temples. It dulls into a constant throbbing. 

 

The pounding outside resumes, this time with a greater sense of urgency and accompanied with several frantic shouts of  _ “Garret!” _ . It takes a little more time for him to realise that the noise outside is someone banging on his door. 

 

_ Travis. _

 

No. He can’t get his hopes up. 

 

“Fuck,” he sighs to himself and rushes to get up. He almost falls with how quickly blood rushes into his head. 

 

Garret makes it to the door without harm. He stalls, even though the pounding on his door continues. The door shakes from the force. 

 

He breathes in deeply, and then breathes out longer. He opens the door to Travis with his arm mid-swing, face red with worry and hair tousled. 

 

“Oh,” Garret says, the word slipping out of his mouth accidentally. 

 

Travis glares and Garret shuts up. 

 

He lets him in.


	7. mind your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Close the door,” Travis says, stone-cold and without emotion while marching into his tiny kitchen. 
> 
> Garret complies as quickly as he can, but it takes a while for his cotton arms to work. He feels there’s something wrong with the entire situation. Everything is too bizarre and familiar and different and unwonted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been almost 2 months. i'm so sorry.

Travis enters his apartment like he owns the place, pushing past Garret with a determined look set deep in his eyes. Garret keeps quiet, biting down on his tongue to prevent himself from blurting out any ridiculous nonsense. He’s still too stunned—and dizzy—to move. He stares at Travis kicking off his shoes haphazardly while his heart pounds in his chest. 

 

“Close the door,” Travis says, stone-cold and without emotion while marching into his tiny kitchen. 

 

Garret complies as quickly as he can, but it takes a while for his cotton arms to work. He feels there’s something wrong with the entire situation. Everything is too bizarre and familiar and  _ different _ and unwonted.

 

“What… what are you doing here?” Garret manages to mumble out as he shuffles to his kitchen doorway. The words come out weird; they don’t sound right. His tongue is lead inside his mouth, hard to move. Maybe he bit it too hard. 

 

Travis’s face is grim; Garret doesn’t mention how unnatural the emotion looks upon his face. It looks unnatural. “Why else would I be here?”

 

“I don’t understand.” He clutches the wooden frame harder.

 

“Of course you don’t,” Travis says, eyes flickering with concern and anger. He sits down heavily at the island and slams down a plastic bag he was holding onto the marble counter. 

 

The harsh sound makes Garret wince and his ears ring. The room spins a little, so he leans his full body against the wall. 

 

“What’s in the bag?”

 

Travis raises an eyebrow, and lifts the bag with both of his hands, suspensefully. Garret’s being played, a hundred percent, but he deserves it. Travis tips the bag upside down, the contents spilling out like a wave. 

 

Garret stares at the pile of objects on his kitchen island. It’s a little bit hard to decipher what Travis has brought since everything’s kind of blurry, partially due to the absence of his glasses. After a while, when his eyes have reached their maximum focus capacity, he’s able to pick out brand new boxes of unopened pain-killers and packets of cold medicine in the pile. He thinks there’s a thermometer in there somewhere.

 

Garret steals a look at Travis. “Why did you bring all of this?”

 

“You’re sick as fuck, Sparky,” Travis laughs darkly. “You thought I wouldn’t notice?” 

 

He shakes his head, then stops when everything starts to spin. “I’m not sick. What are you talking about?”

 

Travis frowns. “Come here for a second.” He beckons at Garret. 

 

Garret hesitates. They haven’t talked in a very long time, and the last time they it happened, the whole thing had been disastrous. He’s unwilling to put himself in Travis’s vicinity. 

 

“Dude, come on.” An unimpressed look flits across Travis’s face. 

 

In the end, he stumbles his way to the kitchen island, settling a few feet away from Travis.

 

Travis sighs, “I’m not going to bite or yell at you. Come closer.” Garret shuffles a bit closer. He has to rest his hip against the island. He’s feeling dizzy. 

 

“See? You won’t die just from being near me.” 

 

The sentence snaps Garret’s lips shut. He’s ashamed. Before he can say anything, Travis lifts a palm and sets it firmly on Garret’s forehead. Garret jolts backwards, away from Travis, but the hand follows, like Travis had expected it. 

 

“Hm,” he says. “You don’t feel very warm.” 

 

Garret stares and trips back to his spot at the doorway. He blurts out, “why are you here?” 

 

Travis peaks up at him, unwavering in his task of ripping the thermometer packaging apart. “I thought I told you already.” 

 

His face darkens. “I’m not sick.”

 

“You don’t think you’re sick?” Travis scoffs. “Do you even know what’s been happening?” 

 

Garret shakes his head and tries not to stare resolutely. Travis looks at him. 

 

“When’d you get home?” Travis asks. 

 

“What does this have to do with you thinking I’m sick?”

 

“Come on, Sparks. Work with me.” 

 

“What time is it now?”

 

Travis takes his phone out of his pocket. “Twelve thirty.”

 

“Then, thirty minutes ago.”

 

“And what were you doing for all this time?” 

 

He pauses, because what  _ was _ he doing for all that time? There’s nothing in his recollection that stands out to him, only a pitch-black darkness that suffocates him. He backtracks, trying to push past all the disorientation and discomfort he’s feeling. 

 

“I don’t really remember,” Garret says, eyes flitting away from Travis. “I was on the floor, I think.” 

 

“Why… were you on the floor?”

 

He frowns. “I was sleeping?”

 

“Sleeping on the floor?” Travis questions, face incredulous. 

 

Garret shuts his eyes tight and leans back on the doorframe, bright lights swirling around in his mind. “I guess so.” 

 

Travis’s lips settle into a thin line. He says, “come here again.”

 

Garret hangs his head and obeys. Travis smiles a little, and Garret’s heart thumps. 

 

“Take off your hoodie,” Travis instructs. 

 

“What?” Garret asks, eyes widening. 

 

Travis rolls his eyes. “The thermometer goes under your armpit. It’ll be harder if you’re wearing long sleeves.” 

 

Garret’s face falls, “right.” He steps closer to Travis tentatively, slowly pulling a sleeve off of his arm. 

 

“Hurry,” Travis whines, making Garret smile. It slips off of his face within a nanosecond as he remembers the boundaries between them. 

 

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” He drops his leafs hoodie on the counter.

 

Travis flits his gaze towards Garret’s face from the hoodie, looking at him through his eyelashes. Garret turns his head away and shifts his right arm up, urging him to put the thermometer there wordlessly. Travis sticks the metal tip of the thermometer harshly into his flesh, making Garret wince slightly from both the chill and unexpected pain of the action. 

 

“Now stay there until it beeps,” Travis orders as he leans back in his chair with his chin held high. Garret looks away, so Travis doesn’t see that he’s been staring at his face. 

 

Silence falls between them, heavy and tense with a slight sense of foreboding. Garret jerks involuntarily as pain stabs through the back of his head once, twice, three times in a row. He wishes Travis would leave so he can avoid confrontation as well as get a nap. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Travis asks. “Why’d you flinch like that?” Garret’s surprised Travis is worried about him. 

 

“Nothing, nothing, just a headache. It’ll go away if you let me sleep.” He’s hoping Travis gets the idea. 

 

Travis snorts, a weird sound when it’s melded together with concern and clear sarcasm. “I get that you kinda hate me right now, but I can still tell when you’re lying, you know.”

 

The sentence makes Garret look away in shame, because Travis doesn’t understand how  _ wrong _ he is. He hates that Travis thinks he hates him. But Travis is partially right, he could never lie to him successfully. Which is why it’s so mind blowing that Travis never discovered the stupid thing Garret had for him. Well,  _ has, _ really.

 

The beep of the thermometer thwarts the silence. Travis stares pointedly at him and pulls the thermometer from his armpit without any hint of remorse for inflicting pain unto Garret. Okay, he does deserve the rough treatment, especially when Travis didn’t have to be here at all. 

 

“Thirty-six point seven,” Travis announces, with a slight furrow to his brow. Garret thinks it’s cute. 

 

“What does that mean?” he asks. 

 

“It means you’re normal,” Travis replies, “that you’re not dying of a fever.”

 

“See? I’m not sick.” He leans against the breakfast island, in case the dizziness becomes worse.

 

“You might not be sick… but there’s definitely something wrong with you.”

 

Garret sighs, “you’re so cryptic today. It’s unnerving.” 

 

“The only thing that’s unnerving is the fact that you won’t tell me shit. You might not have a fever, but there’s something going on with you that’s making you lose control of the Bond.” 

 

Garret stiffens, raising his head to stare at Travis. He ignores the dots in his vision and the race of his heartbeat. “What did you say?” 

 

It’s Travis’s turn to look away. “I can feel all your emotions right now.” 

 

Of all the things Travis had to say, Garret didn’t expect that to be one of them. He places a hand to his forehead, “fuck.”

 

“I literally  _ know _ there’s something wrong with you, because I can feel the pain. I know you’re feeling pain and disorientation and some weird fucking emotion tornado, but I don’t know what’s going on with you. And it worries me.” 

 

“Goddammit,” Garret whispers to himself. It’s over, there’s no point in keeping the ruse up. 

 

He slips away to the adjacent living room and flops onto the couch. It makes the headache and disorientation worse, but he doesn’t really care anymore. 

 

“Garret,” Travis says sternly. Garret almost smiles, because Travis said his name. “What the fuck is wrong?”

 

Garret slips a cushion over his face, smothering himself. Travis starts tugging on the thing, but it doesn’t give. He gives up after a while. 

 

He ends up spilling everything after a minute of silence, not able to bottle it anymore, when he’s lying down on his stupid old couch in a stupid old T-shirt while Travis stands there all angry, as if that would make him scared. 

 

“I have a headache,” he says. 

 

“I’m dizzy,” he says. 

 

“I feel like shit,” he says.

 

“I want to sleep,” he says. 

 

“I don’t hate you,” he says. 

 

And then he shuts up, the cushion still on his face. 

 

“Finally,” Travis sighs, relief in his voice. It sounds like he’s smiling, and Garret hasn’t seen a smile directed at him in  _ so long. _ He throws the cushion away and stares. 

 

He’s right, Travis is smiling. It’s better than he imagined, because Travis is sitting cross-legged on the floor—the dirty fucking floor of his apartment—and looking up at him with that heart-wrenching smile. It’s sincere, and radiant, and gentle all at the same time. Garret doesn’t know how to deal with this, because he can’t control the Bond. Travis smiles a little wider, and the dimple on his cheek deepens just a little more, and Garret’s forgotten about all his disorientation and pain. 

 

He figures he’s let the cat out of the bag already with his blatant staring and his nonexistent hold on the Bond. He decides he’ll just wait for judgement. 

 

“You know,” Travis starts, head propped up by a fist, “I really want to be mad at you, but I feel like I shouldn’t be.”

 

Garret keeps staring. “You should be.”

 

Travis shakes his head, the curls on his head rustle. His gaze flits to the wall, turning pensive. A small wrinkle appears in the middle of his eyebrows. Even at this angle, Travis looks angelic. 

 

“I’ll stop being mad for now,” he decides. He shifts, pushing his chest out and cracking his back. “I’ll start again when we know what’s wrong with you.”

 

Garret sighs. He wants to say that he’s fine, that there’s nothing wrong with him, but he’s already come clean with all his symptoms. 

 

“Maybe it happened in practice,” Travis muses, pinning Garret with a thoughtful gaze. 

 

Garret slaps the cushion back onto his face, relaxing as the bright lights are shielded from his vision. “Nothing happened in practice.” 

 

“That’s not right,” Travis says, slowly coming to a realisation. “You got hit in the head. Twice.”

 

This time Garret groans loudly. “I get hit in the head all the time.” 

 

“But the shots  _ really _ hit you this time. I saw.” 

 

Garret lifts the cushion off his face. “You saw?”

 

Travis turns to him, visibly confused. “Yeah, I saw. What, am I not supposed to be keeping an eye on you?”

 

“Oh,” Garret blinks. “I guess not.”

 

“What?” Travis questions incredulously, raising his voice instinctively. 

 

Garret flinches as the sound directly pierces his head, “ow.” 

 

“Shit, sorry.” Travis pauses. “Stop distracting me! I mean, if you got hit in the head,  _ twice, _ there’s always the chance of a… concussion.” 

 

A concussion? He hopes it’s anything but a concussion. The fear must show in his eyes, yet Travis continues. 

 

He says as he stares into Garret’s eyes, trying to be reassuring, “it’s just a possibility. It’s better to get it checked out. But the symptoms are there.”

 

Garret frowns, Travis is right. He can’t rule it out. “Fuck.” 

 

“Hey,” Travis smiles again, this time unsure and hesitant. “It’s okay. If it really is what it is, I’ll be here beside you.” 

 

He places a hand on Garret’s bare upper-arm. Garret smiles timidly, staring at their point of contact. “Will you really? Even if I’m an asshole?”

 

Travis laughs, “you’re really not that big of an asshole. But I will, as long as you stay beside me. Will  _ you?” _

 

Garret smiles confidently this time, moving to clutch Travis’s hand hesitantly. “I will. I promise.”

 

They stay there, hand in hand, until Garret’s palm turns sweaty and unbearably hot. His headache pounds away without abandon, just like his heart, but he’s happy to be talking to Travis again. 

 

It feels good to be whole again, even if he’s blatantly broadcasting all his improper, saccharine emotions across the bond. Even if it’s just for a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading guys!
> 
> if you liked this fic, please leave a kudos. and if you really liked it, leave a comment down below. tell all your friends and come yell with me on tumblr @mitcheemarns.


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